


Please Hold The Line

by SusanStoHelit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Although they talk all the time, Case Fic, Communication Failure, Crime Fiction, Future Fic, How Do I Tag, Long Distance Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, McCall Pack, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles, Phones are awesome, Pining, Slow Burn, Stiles is 26, Stiles is FBI, Texting, There's plot, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanStoHelit/pseuds/SusanStoHelit
Summary: In which Stiles is FBI in Chicago on a flummoxing case with his were-cat partner and Derek helps people as a Lycanclopedia in New York and they both would love to bone, but there's no way they will tell each other without almost dying first - because reasons.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 35
Kudos: 132





	1. Stiles - Lullaby of Woe

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, quarantine made me do it. It started out as a bag of one-shot plotbunnies and turned into a multi-chaptered monster that's eaten half of my quarantine. Mind you, I don't type fast and I mixed it up a few times, so now it has all of my favorites: Some failed communication, some confusion, some pining, some long-distance friendship (who can't relate right now), Scott being a good alpha in my book, Magical Stiles, and a healthy dose of half-baked crime scene knowledge. I love detective stories. 
> 
> This is only self-beta'ed and I am eternally grateful for any help in that department. 
> 
> We start with Stiles' POV, the Derek's but as the story's picking up there will be mixed chapters.

Prologue

It hurt the way a dull, sizzling hot metal rod to the abdomen hurt. Stiles smelled burning flesh and doubled over, stumbling at the excruciating agony that expanded from the impact of the bullet through his limbs. There were shouts but the blood rushed in his ears and he couldn’t make out words anymore. I’m shot, he thought randomly. Then he felt another bullet graze his neck and rip a white-hot streak into his jugular. He choked, fell and his temple hit the concrete floor with a deafening thunk.  
He tried to breathe while the shots ceased, was dimly aware of a person coming closer, words that were shouted and a hand that suddenly covered his neck heavily. It burned.   
Then bluish-white entered his vision, but not the white of falling unconscious. The white of something happening, something terrifying that he had no power over. The burn of injury morphed into acid fire in his veins, every cell of his body felt like it shattered and was being rebuild agonizingly slowly, painfully and with too much blood, close to exploding any instant now.   
When the light creeped out of his vision, he stopped spasming and heard Senior Special Agent Prescott’s dark voice shout from far away: „Get medical here right now.“ He gasped for breath.   
His brain needed another moment until it registered, that he even could. 

  
\-- Stiles--

Stiles smiled at the first chords of Cage the Elephant’s _No Rest For The Wicked_ , and fished his cellphone off the neat couch table where he’d settled to do some late-night-research for a case, a big thing, narcotics with the smell of corruption and he wanted it to go somewhere. But they had kind of a deal, so he swiped the green. "Yes Derek, please tell me about your hot date,“ he not-asked with the right amount of gravitas reserved for these after-date calls. He reminded himself that he was happy to be in Derek’s life, even with them not seeing each other much and living a few thousand miles apart. After all Stiles had not only saved his ass when he’d appeared half-naked and irresistibly agile on grainy surveillance footage like years ago, but also his dignity when he’d got stood up or disappointed for the millionth time, like with his listless fizz-out with Braeden. Exciting lives didn’t necessarily make exciting relationships after all. And to test his thesis, Derek had been dating „normal people“ lately. 

"Nah.“ he heard the voice that made his insides warm up.   
"I don’t know why I insist on going on dates anyway.“ Me neither, Stiles thought selfishly, but he channeled his 26-year-old adulting self that refused to be jealous: "Because you’re not going to be a failwolf about finding your significant other! What was off about her anyway?“ 

"I don’t know.“ Derek murmured evasively and while the phone grew hot against Stiles’ hear, he heard Derek walk down a street, cars passing, some street noises fading in and out. He stuffed his socked feet under the couch blanket to warm them up. „That’s your standard first line, Derek. You know, if you figured out what exactly you didn’t like, maybe you’d finally find out what you’re looking for in a girlfriend.“ 

There was breathing and a car horn, then steps on stairs until Derek said: "I hated her perfume.“ Stiles manfully suppressed a snort of disbelief.  
"Didn’t you say you met her in the grocery store or something? Didn’t you.. I don’t know, kinda smell her before?“ Another pause. Stiles knew it was going to be flimsy excuses from thereon.  
"Yeah,“ it sounded reluctant. "But this time she used flowery sweet heavy perfume, and some dusty powdery hair product and I hate that and, you know, there are people in my life I can smell anytime, but she’s definitely not one of them.“ 

"Huh,“ Stiles went for nonchalantly preoccupied.  
"Are you even listening?“  
"Sure,“ Stiles’ smile widened. „I mean, you could have just told her not to wear perfume because you liked her natural scent or you get migraines from it or whatever. She probably thought it would be irresistible. Excuses excuses! I’d love to hear what else made you bolt, big guy.“  
"Pet names while you try and lecture me about my nonexistent love-life, Stiles? That’s weirdly invasive.“ Now he could hear Derek’s smirk as well.   
"Someone has to.“ he shot back and listened for the tell-tale turn of the key in the door of Derek’s New York apartment. "So, are you going to do die lonely or what?“ he pressed. Derek grunted noncommittally. Shoes dropped in the background and there was a rustle. Stiles sipped his coffee. It was late and he had shit to do after all.   
"I see. Let’s wait for spontaneous enlightenment then.“ He didn’t yet know that truer truths had never been truthed. 

"Anyway, how’s work?“

Stiles chuckled at the change of topic and couldn’t help the slight twang of relief: "Boring as usual, it’s always just sex, drugs and rock and roll.“   
"Sounds like typical Fed’s business to me. And it’s the gardener of course.“   
"Hm, it might’ve been the pool boy tho.“

  
It was only a day or two later that Stiles received a text at work:

 _I think I’ve never honestly thought about what I want in a S.O. before._  
Stiles rolled his eyes. So typical. He left the phone in his desk drawer until lunch but took it on his walk along the water to Pier 1. It was an extended walk for a lunch break since he wouldn’t have time to go for a run later, and it was sunny and too warm for March in Chicago, but he was FBI and they trusted his judgment. The air had a parchy, but strangely excited feel to it. 

Being far away from home was liberating and had done wonders for his self-esteem and fashion sense. He had pleasant colleagues and even a friend or two, although none of them felt as close as Scott, Lyds - or Derek. Shared trauma would do that to you. He hastily crossed the roads under the bridge. His partner Lillian Hara was a good one though. They’d become fast friends almost immediately after her transfer to Chicago two years prior. She’d been stressed out by an emotionally taxing case and gotten a bit glowy-eyed and furry at the water cooler. Stiles dry delivery of "You’ve got a little something there.“ whilst tapping his own non-existent whiskers had settled that.   
She’d not fretted either when _it_ had happened. 

Stiles sat down on a bench next to the party cruiser that lay silent at the dock this time of day and pulled out his phone and an appropriately artisanal horseradish sandwich to lighten his mood. His reflection in one of the large pier windows looked back at him thoughtfully. The put-together look was a bit windswept right now, tufts of hair changing direction in his otherwise very cropped haircut and he was dressed appropriately for crime scenes and narcotics, dark pants, an unobtrusive polo and a darker jacket. He’d thought he’d be required to wear a suit all the time, but no, here he was, full-on FBI, in pants and a shirt. It was almost disappointing.

 _And what epiphanies did you experience, now that you did? Are you making a list?_  
He was surprised Derek had started giving it so much thought. Derek dating always felt like a game when they talked about it, a bit like relationship chicken and Derek always lost.   
So what if there was that old ache popping up at the image of Derek building his perfect girlfriend in his mind, he then still needed to find her and wasn’t that kind of impossible for a werewolf working full time on were-relations in New fucking York? The mean Stiles in his head cackled maniacally at the irony. Besides, he really wanted Derek to be happy and if there was a girl out there to make that happen...

_You 're just gonna trash it when it's finished. 1. I want them to smell really good. 2. Also not being afraid of the supernatural would be a plus, but also kind of hard to come by. Humans are so fragile. 3. No thrill-seekers or mercenaries._

Stiles scoffed, a tiny bit of lettuce now sticking to his screen. No shit, Sherlock. He wiped the screen on his pants with a grimace and answered:

_How about a gal of the supernatural persuasion then?  
_

Three dots appeared and disappeared a few times and Stiles decided not to wait until Derek had managed to organize words into a meaningful sentence before he got back to the bureau. Supernatural dates had always been a big no-no for the wolf, courtesy of his dating history Stiles supposed. Granted, Derek's girlfriends had all been as supernaturally beautiful as him and decidedly female, but also so far off the rails it wasn't even a track anymore.

When he got up, he let his eyes and mind wander, turning his face into the sun to indulge in a brief fantasy of a rom-com moment where Derek finally found out that Stiles had been what he’d always wanted and was bounding up a huge staircase in a romantic European medieval village with traveler’s joy-covered walls, to embrace him at the top of the stairs, pick him up and whirl him around on the terrazo-ed plaza and this sun in his face and a heartfelt cliché kiss, complete with perfect aqua eyes and the widest smile - and suddenly felt weirdly inadequate on too many levels,… but a guy could fantasize, he decided. Stuffing the sandwich packaging into the closest trash can, he sighed. It wasn’t as if he was eagerly looking for alternatives. 

  
Derek hadn’t finished that message until much later. Stiles was getting worried while gliding through afternoon traffic in their standard-issue black limousine glancing at his phone.   
He sighed, typed

_Sorry, didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories but seriously, having people around you in the know is the only thing worthwhile and maybe a really thorough background check is, after all, possible. And that’s totally not an offer to exploit my position._

He only half-listened to Lillian’s running commentary on the symbols they’d found in huge reddish letters on the walls. Police had been called on the scene that day, one middle-aged John Doe dead, his own entrails arranged artfully around him in a bloodthirsty display and partly cut up in the perfect pattern for claws, if the report was to be believed. Four deep cuts, one more shallow. Four fingers, thumb. 

Stiles had quickly analyzed the symbols to be old-country Wiccan moon sigils and gotten the case off the bat. It had almost been too easy, but his somewhat singed reputation as the Mulder to Lillian’s Scully had probably helped. His drug’s bust was on halt anyway as they waited for an informant’s data that was due any day now.   
  
“I bet it’s a witch,” Lillian murmured bitchily, surprisingly atypical to her usually impenetrable calm strength. Stiles focused on her in surprise: “Oi! What’d they do to you?” Her deceptively young face with dark, beautifully slanted eyes and brows, the expressive mouth and round nose were scrunched up in a grimace of utter distaste. She wore soft, chocolatey coloured pants and a dark red polo under a form fitting navy jacket. A small silver ear stud with a leopard print glinted through the silky long black hair that went down to around her elbows. She had a scrunchie tied around her wrist for the time being: “You mean besides sacrificing live animals for paint and killing a guy?” She changed lanes and took the next exit outwards. Her eyes flashed orange for a split second and Stiles knew better than to taunt her now. He was low-key intimidated by her heels.   
He grunted in agreement before he looked at the photographs again and squinted at the biggest print that had the whole line of glyphs highlighted in disgusting yellow highlighter.   
“Reading this feels so wrong to me, as if someone wanted a Wiccan ritual but didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Also, most Wiccan witches are peaceful.” 

She shrugged: „You should know. Didn’t you instantly recognize them?”   
He nodded, his knee wagging: “Yeah, superficially the symbols are all consistent moon glyphs.“ He traced the lines: „Here’s the phases, there’s growth, birth, harvest, death, but it’s all so basic. I can’t see a true message in this.”  
“You mean you don’t know what it’s been done for?”   
The city lights exhausted his eyes as they hit the photograph on Stiles’s knees in intervals and he switched on the interior lighting. “Yeah. It makes no sense.” He felt uneasy, as if he was missing something critical. It didn’t help that a tiny bit of his mind was still hooked on the fact that Derek had just sent him an answer. He surreptitiously glanced at the message

_Don't panic. Thanks to you I remembered someone I met a while back. She lives around here, part of another local pack, we’ll go for drinks tonight. I’ll let you know if she’s a case for a background check._

His stomach churned with uncharacteristic trepidation. He took a deep breath and looked up at the road again, staring straight ahead, willing his brain to cooperate. Flashes of intrusive thoughts mixed with city glimmer until he relented and let his eyes and mind unfocus for a while to air it out.   
Lillian scoffed: "You should leave that thing at home. Your work phone should be the only phone in operation right now. Besides, you’re useless when he writes.“   
Stiles grimaced. "Yeah thanks, Hara. Cease that invasive mind-reading schtick, would you?“   
She just smiled smugly while he huffed and puffed and finally stuffed the phone into the glove compartment for another round of sulking.

"Did you ever have a talk about it, I mean, like grown-up people?“   
A dramatic sigh: "Oh, loads of talks. About everything. Loves to talk. Big talker that one. Also so queer that he bends around completely, loads of girlfriends.“   
Her face contorted in commiseration: "Damn, that sucks.“   
"Yeah.“ he said quietly.

The din of travel bled into a static buzz that produced a comfortable backdrop for Stiles’s mind. He almost felt like he was back in Beacon Hills, surrounded by forest, Derek next to him with Scott and the others not too far behind. The turning point of his and Derek’s friendship, respect, him growing up, getting more self-assured and Derek starting to check-in more, it was slow and steady, him and his shifting friends, keeping each other in the loop. Until now. He felt for the slightly raised line on the skin of his neck for comfort. He’d told nobody how far he had gone. What he’d become. At first he hadn't known what to tell them, now he didn't know how. It was dumb, but some confessions festered too long to go down casually. He just needed the right moment.

When they arrived at the scene, a recently emptied warehouse in a more remote area of the greater Chicago city limits, it was already surrounded by police tape and pull-outs from CPD and FBI. Dark clouds had begun to suck up the last bit of daylight and prematurely introduced nightfall and dampened the air. Stiles saw Lillian get out and head over immediately. He donned one of the mandatory overalls that made him feel stuffy, papery and gave him an odd shape and stepped inside the tinny building through a huge roller shutter, easily three meters high. The first drops of a torrential downpour started to thrash noisily on the lightweight metal roof. Glaring crime scene lights threw the short side opposite the entrance into a stark white light. Stiles blinked to adjust. He walked over slowly, letting his eyes wander around the grisly scene methodically to spot anything that hadn’t been seen before. 

He made a mental note to ask Lillian for her nose later. A very thin layer of dust had settled everywhere besides the murder site. Stiles turned around himself once like a dancer in an aimless pirouette with his eyes glued to the floor. The edge of the subtly cleared space looked swept, uneven and there were too many footprints now to immediately isolate one pair. He hoped there had been pictures before or they’d have lost a major advantage. Stiles mentally noted _organized crime?_ next to _let Lilly take a whiff, who owns the place?_ , _breaking and entering?_ and _glyphs feel wrong_. His right forearm began to tingle at the thought. He rubbed it absentmindedly, stepping between the body and the tan steel wall for a better look at the hack job of glyph-molesting that was painted blood-brown and awful across it.  
  
“It’s a whole circle from new Moon to new Moon.” he repeated to himself, the sign for the renewal of life’s energies in the eternal circle of power…but they were dreadfully done, with big, uneven raggedy edges and fast, irregular brushstrokes, like a child painting, having neither the motor skills nor the patience. Some of the „paint“ had sprayed onto the concrete floor. Stiles carefully scraped at a trickle of it with a scalpel and bagged the powdery residue from the blade.

When he turned around towards the body, the glaring blueish lights made it look plastic-y and fake. The skin had turned waxy and pale, the lips decolored, broken eyes stared unseeing into space. Around it, bulging, flapping intestine lay fanned out like disgusting snow angel wings to the mostly clothed human husk. It made Stiles uneasy. The body gave off a metallic stench, of slaughterhouse and beginning decay. The edges of the wounds across the whole length of the torso were only a little ragged and Stiles’s eyes narrowed. Huh, not so much a question of ripping claws then, he mused. He closed one eye and was about to reach out differently when he was interrupted by a quiet: “Good evening Agent Stilinski.” 

An unremarkable figure in a green forensics overall had stepped from the darkness beyond into the crime scene light: “I’m Dr. Drew Miles. I’m with forensics;“ Light brown hair just long enough to be falling into greenish eyes and a face belonging to anyone presented themselves. Maybe that was why he self-consciously gestured to his overalls that had forensics printed on them."My team is outside, they’re packing.” Stiles was astounded the rain had been loud enough to mask Dr. Miles’ approach. He looked about Derek’s age, Stiles guessed and his insides clenched a bit at that. Derek. He hadn’t answered Derek’s text, he suddenly felt an inexplicable, acute pang of loss. Being Derek’s friend was something they’d had to work for, something precious and valuable to him. Something defining him even here, even now.

The shutter rattled again and Lillian entered and came to stand on the other side of the corpse. "What utter shit,“ she commented drily in distaste. He sighed at Miles: "We read the first report, but I’d like you to walk us through if you don’t mind.“ Dr. Miles was as thorough and as detailed as Stiles had feared.   
When he’d ended his monologue, answered some questions and the body had been brought outside, Lillian and him hung back for a moment and raised his eyebrows at her: "What do you get?“   
Her eyes blazed orange again, her nose shifting minutely into something a bit more blackish and squat before she shook her head and rubbed a hand across it. "Chemical smell, but not forensics. Some people, can’t get one signature though. Older man, intestine.“ He nodded, already turning away from the entrance: "Cover me.“   
He saw her nod and turn to stand guard out of the corner of his eye before he touched one of his fingers to his right eye and had to close the left to not be disoriented. The world seemed to shift in his vision, turning slightly greyish and bleak. Instead of the warehouse, he could only make out the fundament which was slightly smaller than in real life, but also slightly darker and more gritty with a blackish hovering stain where their John Doe had died. He turned his eye on Lillian who was a soft reddish feline silhouette over here. "Hey, no peeping.“ she groused good-naturedly and he dropped the hand, blinked and told her what he’d seen. As they stepped outside, he took care to cover the right side of his face with the hood of the overalls, lest anybody see the light.


	2. Derek - No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's collecting points for his list. It's going faster than anticipated. Stiles involves him a bit too much.  
> It gets tough.

It wasn’t as if Eileen wasn’t pretty or a douche or smelled bad, but Derek observed her talking rather animatedly and still felt her - lacking. There had been a small spark when they’d first been introduced at a pack merger - a thing NYC wolves had a thing for apparently, and he was a loved guest as one of the last two Hales. Now she was just nice. Nice to look at. Pleasant. 

  
He sighed softly and tried to listen to what she was saying, to emulate interest where he was almost bored out of his mind. He made a mental note to his ever-growing list of things I need in an S.O. He wasn’t sure why Stiles always emphasized the „girlfriend“ bit. _4\. Entertaining mind: Must challenge or at least intrigue me._ He wondered what Stiles was doing anyway, since he’d gone to work for the FBI their conversations had become full of hints without giving too many details lest Stiles be arrested for endangering national security. The moon glyphs though, that was something they’d nerded out over together. He’d even sent Derek a sketch of them with a smiley face and a cheeky _if you don’t get to bone, chew on this._

  
„Hey, you want to get out of here?“ Eileen intruded on into his internal conversation. He nodded. Only as he had sent her off in her cab and mentally gone over their goodbyes he realized that she’d wanted him. He typed Entertaining mind into his phone’s notes, added 5.outspoken to his list and sighed. He’d probably been too preoccupied with Stiles’s little riddle to pay proper attention.  
He walked back to his own flat which wasn’t too far and stopped on the street, admiring the almost full moon between the Brooklyn buildings. He felt it fill him with nervous energy and decided to walk a bit further than he’d first intended while texting Stiles. 

  
_Boring._

  
There was no response until after midnight: _At least she didn’t actively try to kill you._

  
He snorted and added _6\. great sense of humor_ to the list. To be fair, only Stiles was allowed to joke about this, as he’d been there with him and saved Derek’s hide an enormous amount of times. A spike of longing pierced his chest at the thought. He was happy in NYC, his work was meaningful and perfect for the kind of expertise he had on werewolf lore, there was very little that could surprise him now. He felt reasonably safe and accomplished, but he was still lonely at times. Not because there weren’t enough pleasant people around, but because none of them knew him the way Stiles or Scott did. He couldn’t just go and tell people about bad backstories and nightmares, about how the Alpha Spark must’ve left some kind of residue in him, how even though he had been so ready to never fight again, after everything, after having run off with Braeden and living her mercenary lifestyle for a while, there still was this aggression and bits of residual pain that wanted out, needed some kind of catalyst, kind of a primitive fuck and fight. He’d once told Stiles, who’d suggested underground fighting and whores. So he’d joined a gym and this awful dating frenzy had begun. 

He walked a few blocks until he arrived at the Hudson in Williamsburgh and stared out at the glittering night skyline of Manhattan. He needed a change of scenery. Again. 

  
The next morning he made a few calls to let everybody know he’d be out of town for a few weeks, right after the merger that was scheduled for Friday. He knew it was the best decision he’d made in a long time when he caught the tightness in his shoulders bleed away in his hallway mirror, barefoot on the light wood floor, wearing low-slung track-pants and a tight shirt that didn’t bother him during his workouts, the cropped beard, his hair beginning to go salty at the temples. Before he knew it, he’d be a hot older guy. He smirked and added _a fucking adult to his list._

  
Planning for his time off, preferably in the woods with a body of water close by, he immediately thought of Lake Michigan before he tamped down on that idea. For one there weren’t any old forests around there and he also knew Stiles was super busy right now. Besides, it would be a huge surprise, they hadn’t physically seen each other for years. 

Not because they’d planned it that way but life had gotten busy and before they knew it, almost three years had passed. Derek frowned and was dumbstruck by how he could feel that close to Stiles without seeing him for so long. It was good, they obviously had that communication thing going for them, bit like with Scott, but he’d been back in Beacon Hills to check on the Alpha several times in the last year alone. He sat down on his bed and stared at his hands gripping the leather jacket, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Stiles in Chicago.

He’d been injured on a case not too long before Derek had stopped by and still sported a huge welt across his neck that looked like something had tried to separate his brilliant head from his clumsier body. Stiles had been jumpy and if Derek hadn’t known better he’d have guessed PTSD. But there’d been something different about his scent as well that he couldn’t quite place. Something clear and rainy-fresh, but also a bit of ozone that merged with his usual scent and made it hard for Derek not to be irritated by the difference. It was a good smell, just different, intertwined with Stiles’ usual warm, familiar one. He remembered they’d had an argument about it, Stiles not wanting to share what exactly had happened, lying by omission and Derek being hurt that he’d not trust him with it. Stiles was human, it was what made him special to Derek as he’d never gotten tired to tell him. But he was fragile and Derek worried. He always worried. They’d gotten over it though. 

Now they were closer than ever in his book. The thought sent him scanning the drawing of the glyphs again, he had to agree with what Stiles had said: It was moon glyphs alright, but they were random, as if someone had just painted out the most basic vocabulary. He wondered if they’d found anything conclusive at the murder site. 

_I’m still not sure it’s claws._ Stiles texted later that day. Derek scowled while pushing his cart through the meat aisle. He leaned on the handle of the shopping cart and texted back _Wolverine wannabe_? He smiled as Stiles sent back an amazed emoji at the reference.   
_Miles still says claws though._ _He seems less smart than I thought forensics were required to be. He’s also not into my idea that the sigils are crap_. 

Derek frowned at the message and consequently the ham in his hand before throwing it in the cart and answering: _He a trainee witch or what?_

_Gotta go, new intel on sex drugs and rock’n’roll. S_

Derek huffed. His brain supplied very helpful images of shot drug’s bust victims and executed undercover agents tied to chairs that made him grind his teeth noisily and the woman in line in front of him look at him suspiciously. His disarming smile might have had a strange touch to it.

Derek had a meeting with a group of young werewolves from further up north that afternoon. They’d asked him to explain territorial diplomacy rites to them and he’d had a short chat with Scott before he’d driven upstate. He knew the Alpha that had bitten them had been killed by hunters not too long ago, but upon greeting them, the tallest girl flashed her red eyes at him and he responded in kind. They lived quite close to the woods in a cabin that was almost a luxury retreat. One of them must have money.

He didn’t know much about their backgrounds, but he knew they’d all been out of high school for a few years at least and moved here for further education before they’d been turned against their will. Their current living arrangement reminded him of the house in the preserve and he had to tamp down a bit of homesickness for a split second. 

  
He smiled to cover it up. „You’re good at instinct then,“ he said and she blushed shyly.   
„We’re doing okay.“ She was lean and objectively very attractive, with short, soft dark blonde hair and huge blue eyes. Derek was reminded of his oldest sister.  
He held out his hand. „I’m Derek Hale.“  
She shook herself before she responded like a human being. He nodded at their hands: „Try and keep normal social basics fresh. You can live like recluses but it’s not a good life. And it’s easy to get lost in the woods.“  
She was almost ready to protest when he saw understanding dawn in her eyes.

„I’m Carla, this is Jorge and Isabel.“ Her two betas were likely about her age and both very attractive, Jorge even more than Isabel Derek noted. He noticed that the Beta held his eyes. His were a deep forest green and he was also tall, all lean long limbs, pale and graceful. They exchanged pleasantries, settled down around a huge wooden table and Derek did his best to explain whatever they asked of him, slightly intrigued by Jorge’s rapt attention and interested scent.  
It was almost dark when Isabel asked „Don’t you miss running? Like, with a steady pack?“ He shrugged. „I do belong to a pack. It’s just not close at present. We keep in touch at all times. Do you run?“  
They exchanged looks and nodded, suddenly giddy with tension. It was three more days until the full moon. They felt it too. „You wanna?“ Jorge asked and Derek nodded: „Yeah, ok.“ 

They almost jogged outside, a bit into the darkening forest and there were shouts of excitement when he shifted into full wolf but he couldn’t have cared less. They’d been right, it had been far too long since he’d run with a pack and just held his nose into the forest, smelled everything in its finest nuances, seen the traces of scents on the wind. Unable to keep it to himself, he threw back his head and howled.   
The youngsters joined in immediately. It was a good howl.  
Later that night he added _willing to learn, must let me run free, trustworthy_ and after a few more   
minutes thoughtfully _possibly tall and slender_.

  
Derek was woken up by the vibration of a text message, refreshed and less tense than the day before. He wondered if maybe he should just drive upstate and spend some time with the pack, kind of as a stand-in for his own pack whose empty space he’d felt so keenly the day before. Or go to Beacon Hills for a change, catch up with Scott. He still thought about it when his phone vibrated again. He got up to find a message from an unknown number.   
_Hey Derek, it’s Jorge. Carla gave me your number. We’re in NYC this weekend, for the merger. Do you maybe want to go grab coffee sometime? J_

He smiled. He liked Jorge’s easy question and texted back a brief _Sure, I know a nice place close to Central, Friday? D_

  
Only when he’d put his phone down he noticed that he hadn’t had a date with a guy for quite a long time. A familiar face flashed before his eyes. Yeah, the only other person of the male persuasion he’d wanted before had been with women exclusively. His deep sigh carried through the whole flat. Exactly this was why he’d not dated guys for so long, the flashes, the weirdness. He hung his head. Maybe it was going to go better with Jorge, now that he hadn’t seen Stiles for so long. He straightened up and went to get some coffee. 

_How’s rock and roll going?_ he typed into his messenger while at the corner coffee shop and maintaining his business contacts. He got an answer barely a few moments later   
_It’s Fear and Loathing in the force. I think this might be worse than I thought._  
Derek stared at the lines but it took him more than a moment to really understand what Stiles was saying. There were corrupt agents involved in the narcotics operations Stiles had wanted to bust. This was a whole new level of shit going down.

 _You need to be careful, Stiles._ he typed, insistently pushing at the letters, his stomach in an angry twist. He softly shoved the pan de spinach away from himself and his sensitive nose. He couldn’t stomach any food right now. 

_I know. On break rn, Lill’s around. Someone’s branching out._

_Stiles_. He noticed his hand shaking. 

_I’m FBI, dude! Any news on the dating front?_  
Way to go to change the topic, Derek thought and noisily threw the phone on the glass table. He heard the glass of the screen break and winced but aside from a dirty glare from the barista, nobody said anything. He tried to calm down. Stiles was extra smart and he had Lill’s with him, a were, but goddamnit if Derek wasn’t allowed to be worried for his pack member in the fray. 

His phone vibrated again: _By the way, here are some pics of the witchy body. I’m still not sure about blades vs. claws, so I need your trained eye._ Derek scoffed.   
_Any idea what kind of ritual requires this level of gore? You’re officially a source bound to secrecy for this one. Ignore the mousy guy, he’s forensics. NSFW obvsly._  
Derek hoped they weren’t under surveillance, Stiles sharing all this was definitely not standard FBI procedure, especially since he himself had needed to be cleared of heinous crimes several times in the past. 

On closer inspection he could think of a kind of were with claws like this.  
_Might be someone like Lills._ He stared at his own sent text.   
There was silence for a long time.

_She says possible, but she never clawed anyone that way so she can’t say. Are going to try with dead pig. Ta._

He didn’t want to suspect Lillian. Even though he hadn’t met her she seemed to be a good person, a good agent and a good friend to Stiles. The strength of his own feelings on the matter was unsettling. Stiles was right, he was FBI, he was fully trained, had experience, Derek tried to remind himself. The untouched sandwich lay accusingly next to his splintered screen . There was no way he was going to get any work done now, so he just shoved on his jacket and packed his stuff to take a good long cleansing walk around the park. 

It was late that evening when his phone rang with an unknown number and he immediately recognized Stiles’ upset breathing pattern upon picking up. "Hi Derek.“ He froze halfway through his food preparations. „What is happening, Stiles?“   
"Can’t talk much, I’ve had to get a burner phone, I’m pretty sure my phone’s been bugged.“  
He knew it. "I was afraid you’d say something like that sometime.“  
"It’s part FBI, so I’m not surprised. You be careful, right? I’m dumb, I’m sorry, I just hope nobody’s going to get at you, this is all my fault for consulting with you.“ There were cars in the background. "Are you outside right now?“  
"Yeah.“  
"I admit I was wondering... you usually don’t talk this much about your cases. But listen, Stiles, I’ll be fine, there’s nothing if not a tight-knit community here. They’ll let me know.“  
Stiles sighed audibly. "Yeah, but you need to keep an eye out, too, you hear me? You’ve not been on cases for years!“  
"Werewolf, remember?“ Derek was not smiling, but it was a close thing. A part of him reveled in the care Stiles dished out so casually.  
"Yeah,“ Stiles murmured again. "Listen, Der, do you think it could be…“   
"Lills?“ he completed the sentence with a heavy heart.  
"Yeah. I know it seems strange, but what if there’s more to it. There’s only one person in IT for me around here I trust implicitly, Rose, she checked back bank accounts for me and there are transactions leading where they shouldn’t and I don’t know how far up this will reach and if this murder mystery is to throw us off, there is a were in the FBI, a were like her. But I asked her to scent the warehouse and she couldn’t pick anything out. Der, what if she’s lying..?“  
"I don’t know, Stiles.“   
"You would hear.. I don’t.“ he sounded so frustrated that it almost physically hurt Derek. A static crackle disturbed the connection. "Sorry.“ Stiles mumbled.   
"What for?“ Silence. "Stiles?“  
"Nevermind. You know the claw marks we tried on the pig?“   
Derek hummed in acknowledgment. "It looked very similar.“ His voice fell flat, worried.  
"Stiles, listen. Take another good look at it, the depth, the width of her fingers, is it even possible she could reach that far? You really need to go at this with a clear head, there’s too much at stakes.“ He hadn’t wanted to sound so urgent, but he needed Stiles to get a grip now. He’d usually been the cool-headed one, but something was clearly off and so much so, that there was not a trace of humor left in Stiles: "Alright. Thanks Der.“  
"Anytime. Take care.“

He heard a soft huff and the blip of the line going dead and all he could do was grip the Formica countertop of his rented apartment and breathe. There was no way he was going on a date on Friday. If this went on this way, he was going to Chicago to sniff the situation out himself. He knew it was a dumb thought, Stiles could handle himself just fine, but he couldn’t help it. Right now it seemed as if Stiles was isolated from everything good and there was nobody to save his hide if the weres around him should decide to want it off him. The merger was tomorrow, too, one day before the full moon. He would wait it out another day and hope against hope that Stiles was wrong just this once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you get into the habit of editing everything? I do. I feel like rewrite everything at least thrice.. but it feels so much better afterward. I also added hashtags.


	3. Lillian - Rome One Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a theory - will it hold?  
> Also: Derek lets his date plans slip - Stiles is less amused than he suspected.

She was sure somebody would find out from her face alone. Snooping witnesses’ houses or breaking and entering to gather intelligence or whatnot was alright with her, but this? This was like peeing on your own carpet. She hated going behind Prescott’s back, especially since the DA had been nothing but good to her, but if Stiles was right - and she could see how he’d got here - they needed her nose on an inside job. 

Walking down the hallway to the DA’s office, her murder heels clicking, she took care to keep a relaxed gait, hips swaying, looking extremely busy. She’d grabbed a random manila folder from her desk, some report or other to look the part.   
Turning another corner she saw Dr. Miles, Carter and Black further down the hallway, apparently walking from one room to another. Something distracted her about the image, but she filed it away for later. Right, smells - she held her folder up to cover her nose and jaw to inconvenient passersby and breathed deeply. 

There was a metallic pang to the air, some ozone woven through, almost pungent with how saturated it was. Her heart jumped until she remembered the laser copier - for a split second she’d thought about what Stiles had told her. It could still be magic, just not the moon glyph kind. She checked her appearance in the reflection of another door’s name plate and lowered the manila, following it with her eyes, when she saw them. 

There were scratches in the door, right next to the handle, too deep to be human, too regular to be anything else but from claws. She broke out in a cold sweat. If there were fresh claw marks, there must be another were and if there was another were that had been entirely untraceable - trembling with nerves she bent down and took another whiff.   
It was very very faint and the ozone was too strong. She shuddered and gagged before she pulled back to wipe the handle with the elbow of her work jacket. If there was any other trace on this, she’d find it better where the copier didn’t overpower her sensitive palate. 

"Special Agent Hara!“ She jumped but immediately schooled her face into a slightly too bright smile. "DA Prescott, sir“ she said pleasantly. "Did you want to see me?“ His voice was strangely tight. "Ah, actually, sir, I just dropped the folder and had to pick it up just in front of your door. Did you notice there are scratches in it?“ She watched his black, expressive features crumple into a scowl, heard the small stumble of his heartbeat and the spike of nervousness in his scent - but there was no were in him, nothing that betrayed any shifting aroma, no wolf, no nothing. He looked past her at the handle.   
"You mean those?“ She nodded. "Pesky business. I don’t know where they come from,“ she heard the jump in his pulse and tried not to react at all "but I don’t fancy someone taking my whole door to refurbish it right now.“ He smiled pleasantly and moved past her to enter his office.   
"Is there anything else?“ he asked with raised brows.  
"No sir.“   
She was so mad, she could have cried. 

When she arrived in the parking lot, Stiles was already in the car and had changed into his hoodie.   
"Is that what you’re wearing on the job now, Stilinski?“   
He lowered his sunglasses and she had to take a deep breath. His eyes glowed in a magnificent aqua tone, silvery lines giving the impression of ancient nordic signs, something geometric that had expanded all over the right side of his face.   
"What are you doing?“ she hissed, even angrier. "What am I doing?“ Stiles snapped incredulously: "It’s doing it on its own!“   
"You’re a wizard, Stiles, you can’t just throw around your powers, who knows what’ll happen!?“  
"Shut up, Lills, you’re one to talk!“ Only then did she notice that the fingers she’d wound around the wheel had grown claws of her own.   
She breathed deeply, thinking back to her childhood in bumfuck California, the trees, the heat, the cicadas, Haha tending the garden, the cliché bonsais in her father’s greenhouse. She could almost smell the rainforest aroma of it. When she opened her eyes, they were dark brown and calm again.   
Stiles still glowed. "You need to get that under control, Stilinski. What’s your happiest memory?“   
"Really, are we really going to do this here? Now?“ his voice was deadly calm.   
"Only if you don’t want me to beat out your pretty fairy lights. We cannot afford this. We need to stay low. There is a were in there, there are claw marks on the DA’s office door, and he knew something, he lied to my fucking face and I could not smell a fucking thing.“   
She was getting frustrated again.   
"Hey!“   
"Don’t hey me!“ she snarled, her voice going low. Stiles eyes widened and he pointed at his own teeth. She reigned herself in. Then she whispered: "We need to focus. All we have right now is each other.“ 

Stiles looked at her for a long moment, almost too long to be comfortable, almost as if he suspected her. She chose to believe in him and silently started the engine. When she next looked over, his hood was down and his eyes had lost some of their glow.   
"I’d leave the glasses for now.“ she commented drily.  
He nodded. "Thanks, Hara.“

They drove in silence for a while until they arrived at her flat. Stiles looked almost startled, but he’d been here before. "I know it’s not the best option, but Ron isn’t home and we need to talk and I check this place regularly.“  
She ushered him out of the car and up four flights of stairs. Lillian’s flat was full of ancient books on ancient civilizations, ancient architecture and super ancient literature. Her husband had a PhD in archeology. Stiles had once commented that he’d at first found them a strange couple, but when you saw them together, the strong steady and calm boss woman and her equally calm and academic, but adventurous husband, it made absolute sense. She’d been so grateful that Ron had agreed to come with her, as he was able to work from anywhere. The only downside to someone this amazing were the long times he spent at archeological sites.   
She motioned Stiles to sit on the soft brown leather couch. "Tea?“ He grimaced but he seemed to know he wouldn’t get coffee now.  
When she came back and set a delicate porcelain cup with cats painted all over it in front of him, he smiled. 

"Stiles, I’ll be honest with you.“ she felt dreadful, but she knew they had to talk this out.   
"I could not smell anything, neither at the scene nor around Prescott’s office. There has to be a were and I could not scent a single shitty bit. I am at my wit’s end. And I am worried about you.“  
He started out to say why but snapped his mouth shut when he saw her incredulous look. "This can’t go on. You need a focus, anything. You’re getting stronger by the day, but also completely unhinged.“  
He looked down at his hands. "I know.“ He looked up with sad, hopeful eyes: "What do I do?“ She could only shrug and felt her own chest tighten as his eyes glossed over. "This was what I was afraid of. Being out of control. I’m terrified of what people see when they look at me.“ He drew a shaking hand over his face and pressed his thumb and pointer finger onto his eyelids, just to wipe away the trace of despair she’d seen well up.

"Stiles.“ she said, her voice as soft and loving as possible. "I’m your friend, too, you know.“   
It didn’t work to cheer him much, but he accepted the warm hug she gave him, as a small token of camaraderie and support in times where a clowder - or a pack in wolf terms - was rare and he as a recently sprung mage needed the grounding. "You will have to tell your friends eventually, because they are what you need to ground you.“  
"Like an anchor?“  
"Yeah.“   
She smiled. He returned the smile now. The lines and glowy eyes had finally faded. His brain seemed to start up again because the next thing he said was: "So, if you say there is recent were-related evidence but you didn’t smell anybody, what’s that supposed to mean?“  
"It means, Stiles, that they have a way to mask their scent.“

It took them the best part of the night to search through all of the sites Stiles knew and some of Ron’s books, but it was hopeless. There was no ancient ritual or way to make the scent completely disappear, only curses had been a bit closer to what they searched. "I don’t think they’re cursed.“ Lillian stretched her legs and went on to balance three heavy books on one arm and coffee on the other to tidy up their research table.  
Stiles shook his head. One or two lines had been creeping in from the corner of his shirt collar, on both sides of his spine, but had receded again when he’d lost himself in the translations. It was good to see how easily research came to him. Lillian instead, she was hard-pressed to find motivation for another three pages. She hated research, Ron did that any time it was necessary in their lives. And to top it all off the copier stench made it completely impossible to smell anything more from her jacket sleeve than ozone and chemicals.  
She drew a huge sigh and leant back in her chair. "Isn’t there someone else you could ask?“   
Stiles looked up from his research, into her face and raised first one, then both brows. "Hara, are you actually telling me to use one of your burners to call Derek?“  
"Not necessarily. You could also use one of yours and call whoever else might know.“ she said and flashed her sharp canines.   
Stiles shook his head fondly. "You’re right, I can at least try.“

He actually tried his alpha first, who apparently worked that morning and didn’t answer the phone, then he tried another part of the pack, the druid as far as Lillian could tell, but since none of them was available, he tried Derek in the end. Lillian saw the reluctance in his posture, but as soon as the other man’s voice filtered through the speaker, she saw him relax. She wondered if he knew. 

The morning of the Friday-merger and his date with Jorge dawned grey and colder than expected. Of course being awake almost all night made you less inclined to greet a new day with fervor and positivity either, Derek mused. He’d had a shit night, flashes of Stiles, blood and shoot-outs in his mind all the time, eerily mixed with date-like looks, gestures, situations and him waking up every hour. At half-past three he’d relented and not gone back to sleep. Instead, he’d checked flights to Chicago- just in case and to calm his nerves - and gone over that ridiculous list Stiles had suggested, just to keep himself occupied and because the dreams had had a certain edge of urgency to them. 

But instead of inspiring tender musings, it had ruined his mood completely. After re-reading it several times he’d numbly stared at it for at least half an hour with half a mind to send it to Stiles without explanation and wait what would happen. 

Now, he’d already dressed, was on his second coffee at the large window in his living room and stared at the slowly waking Brooklyn neighborhood. Jorge had probably acted as a catalyst to his buried feelings. Now, at first light, it felt surreal. He couldn’t believe he’d been about to send the list - such a shit cliché thing to do and it would have been at the absolute worst moment, too. 

Suddenly, an unknown number made his phone vibrate in his hand and him jump. Who on earth would call him at half-past five in the morning -  
"Stiles?“ Derek hated how afraid he sounded.   
"Derek.“  
Stiles’ voice was tired and sounded sore, as if he’d been awake all night, too.   
"What do you need?“ he meant it.  
There was a short pause, then Derek heard a woman’s voice prompt him to go on. "I’m with Lills, sorry to wake you, I wouldn’t if we weren’t hopeless. We - there’s something I need to ask you.“  
"Go ahead.“  
"About Weres.“  
"Yes?“  
"Is there a way a were can mask their scent?“ 

  
Derek went cold inside, clutching the already splintered phone tightly. "Stiles, you have to call Deaton, right now. If you suspect that’s what’s happening, you need to get counsel immediately, no scratch that! If it is what I think it is, you need to drop it right now and just get the hell out of Chicago.“  
There was another static crackle when Stiles said: "What? What is it? For God’s sake Derek, if you’re pulling my leg, I’m going to end you!“  
Derek got up to walk around in circles in his living room: "It’s something weres can’t do on their own, they need a warlock and a warlock is _worse_ than fucking _witches_ or _mages_ or druids, Stiles, a warlock is a war-mage. Masking scents is war-magic to hide an army of weres, You can’t - “  
"There’s no such thing as warlocks,“ Stiles interrupted him, but his voice was thready, sad.   
"There’s no such thing as werewolves,“ Derek countered, equally quiet. 

They didn’t speak for a hot minute, just breathing. Then there was Lillian’s voice again.   
"Ask him to come.“  
He heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath, a hand covering the phone but he could still understand the muffled deadpan words: "Lillian, he can hear you.“  
"I know, but he needs to ground you, Stiles, you will go off. This is more important than your dumb post-pubescent angst, that man is your friend, he is pack, he will forgive you, I’m certain.“   
She had a calm, insistent tone, almost like a soft purr. He liked her already.   
The phone was uncovered. "Listen, I - I don’t know how to ask this of you, but things have been happening around here and - it’s a pack thing, I need help. Like, yesterday. I wouldn’t spring it on you like this if there was any other way to deal, but..“ Derek could hear resignation and more static crackling, but all he could compute that moment was that he was needed and fuck it if that didn’t make him ecstatic right now.  
"Yeah okay.“ Just to break the tension, he threw in "I had a date today, but I’ll cancel.“  
Stiles chuckled and the crackling receded. "I’m sure she’ll manage.“  
"I don’t know, he was kind of cute.“ There was absolute and utter silence, not even a breath.   
"Stiles?“ he heard Lillian’s voice, now extremely worried.   
"Did you just say _he_?“ 

Derek was sure he’d never heard that tone of voice before, it made his stomach turn.   
„Yes - wait, is that going to be a problem?“  
There was a rush of crackling before Stiles’ voice came back, murderous this time: „A PROBLEM? No, no problem, not at all, just - you didn’t think to tell me? Like - you’ve _known I_ ’m bisexual for ten fucking years and NOW you choose to tell me? I was - you know what, Derek? I don’t even want to know why you would keep something like that from me. Oh, and since it’s apparently confession time: I’M MAGIC! But I just learned from a _reliable_ _source_ that’s an atrocious thing to be, so don’t bother. I’ll just see myself out. Gosh, the NERVE!“ - then sudden silence. 

Derek stared at his phone to check if it had died but it had just been the connection that had cut off.   
He growled, saw his claws elongate over the screen and was only dimly aware of how rage boiled over, took hold of him before he saw his phone fly and shatter on the tiled floor. Glittering pieces of glass and black screen slithered across the room, but all he knew was the all-consuming urge to fight his way out of this useless confusion. A roar was lodged in his throat but he wrestled it down before he could escalate completely. Panting, as the blue around his vision receded, he stormed into his bedroom, grabbed the packed bag and chucked it largely in the direction of his door before stuffing his feet into some trainers. Stiles could not expect him to just forget about it all, especially his uncharacteristic bid for help. He would fly over, find out what the heck was going on and kick his damned bisexual secret-keeping ass. 

Before, he’d have to see Cathrine at the Moot to tell her about this emergency, lest she thought he didn’t bother showing up anymore and he wasn’t about to ruin everything he’d built here for a lapse in tact. It took him less than ten minutes to write down some notes and be out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back with Derek in the next chapter. This one's shorter, there will be much longer ones, but it worked well like this.. so this is where I cut it. :D  
> I hope you're going to like Lills as much as I do...


	4. Aphex Twin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to Chicago but he can't get a hold of Stiles.  
> Stiles meanwhile, has a nervous breakdown.  
> Lillian organizes shit.

Derek had originally planned to just hand the note to the receptionist, but after she’d insisted for him to wait, he’d been to see Catherine in person in the salon on the eighth floor. She was around fifty, very attractive, dark-haired and half French and therefore took it in stride, not really caring why he wasn’t coming, but caring that he was honestly distressed and sweaty and still sticking to protocol, even if it was just past seven in the morning. 

She graciously invited him to the next merger and sent him off with her kindest regard. He felt like a pawn in the Sopranos, or maybe Sons of Anarchy. The full moon made them all restless apparently. There’d been guests coming and going for a few days in the Moot, some to brush up on pack relations, others to network or go sightseeing, but he wasn’t prepared for the amount of people he saw around this time of day. The red carpeting, creme colored walls und gold detailing set a golden-era like tone, but not everybody residing at The Moot deserved the splendor. 

A thought repeatedly manifesting, as he was passed by other weres in the corridor on the first floor. They were a team of two, both with the posture of military men and one of them flashing his beta eyes unattractively. Derek suppressed an answer and just nodded at him respectfully. The first, middle-aged greige-haired guy gave off a peculiar, somewhat chemical scent while the other, taller and darker one he couldn’t really get. He listened to their steps stopping, then the rap of knuckles on a wooden door, the lock clicking and heard bits of conversation that broke off when he stepped outside to the curb. 

Only after hailing a cab and finally finding half a minute to breathe, he allowed himself to mull over what he knew.   
Stiles was magic. He had told Derek as much, well screamed it at him really, and he remembered the slight change in Stiles’s scent just after he’d had that close call a few years ago.   
He’d not attributed it to magic, even though it made absolute sense. Stiles had always been good at the things Deaton had showed or told him, had known about ash and intention, but he’d never seemed interested enough to make a whole career out of it. Hell, he probably could’ve become Scott’s emissary if he’d wanted to. But maybe he hadn’t and that was why he’d not cared to mention… With a wince he remembered his own words barely a minute before Stiles had told him about his powers. He sighed. How could one person be so smart and so dumb at the same time? 

His flight was delayed, but only by an hour and due to touch down at eleven-thirty. He was thumbing thought he onboard magazine, irritated by the amount of ads as he noticed a peculiar scent again, of chemicals and strangeness. He slowly put down the magazine and let his eyes wander, but it was hard to make out where it originated from. Something niggled at his brain, like a domino about to fall over and set a whole epiphany in motion. Similar to Stiles’ fucking list.   
Derek didn’t know what to make of that tidbit of information, either. He’d think about it as soon as he’d made sure Stiles was still alive at the end of the day. Wasn’t it supposed to be the emissary watching out for the pack? Anyway, he was getting carried away - and also kind of unfair. Stiles was a fine detective, he’d always been good at research and problem-solving. He’d be fine. He’d. be. fine. He’d be fine.   
  
Upon reaching traveling altitude, the seatbelt signs switched off with a ding and he was out of his seat in a heartbeat, strolling down the aisle cool as you please, his eyes roaming over the passengers while he followed his nose. Sure enough, right next to the aisle, quite a bit back in the plane, he could make out one of the guys from the hallway. He squinted. The middle-aged man looked almost boring. Derek sidled into the less-than-pleasantly odored plane bathroom. He listlessly washed his hands and wandered back to his seat nonchalantly. Something about those two rubbed him entirely the wrong way. Why were two people who weren’t decipherable by scent in a were hotel at the night of a merger and took the plane back to Chicago instead of.. he froze. Indecipherable scent.   
He turned in his seat, as if to find a flight attendant and chanced a look back. The middle-aged guy was staring at him across 12 rows of plane seats. His eyes narrowed. Derek turned back around. Only one way to test his theory. He’d have to keep an eye on those two. He pressed the service button only to remember that he’d bought cheap-as-you-please-but-don’t-expect-pleasantries.

He let the two guys pass his seat when they’d touched down to keep an eye on them. He knew that he was traceable, so he reactivated all his non-existent talent for acting to stay largely inconspicuous. Or so he hoped.  
Outside O’Hare he spotted them heading for a cab just to be intercepted by a mousy-haired, truly unremarkable guy who led them to a silver parked sedan. He even wore braided slippers in a tan tone. They got in the car and passed him, the middle-aged guy noticing and staring at him while they merged with traffic. Derek strolled over to where they’d met at the taxi stand and tried to catch the third signature. There was nothing. He couldn’t help the low-frequency growl escaping his throat. He had to tell Stiles, or Lillian. Anyone, preferably, known to him. They would be lost if they went into this unheeded. 

Stiles was not at home. Go figures, Derek thought miserably jumped back into his unassuming rental. He’d try the precinct then. He wasn’t sure they’d let him enter, but he could damn well try. 

Lillian brought Stiles another cup of tea and a blanket. "I don’t want you to drive.“   
An exhausted nod. "I’ll try and repair what’s possible, I swear.“   
She just shook her head softly and took stock of the debris of what had once been three potted plants, a couch table, two chairs and their TV. "Ron will be pissed if you don’t get us a new TV before he comes back.“   
"Huh.“ Stiles said sadly and took the tea, pinching her sleeve at the same time: "Lill’s I’m sorry.“   
She sighed: "You already said. You should sleep, Stiles. You need all the willpower you can muster and if he’s not even going to be any good, I need you extra fresh and fluffy. Tonight’s a big night.“  
He swallowed.   
"D’you want anything to help you sleep?“   
He nodded.   
"Be right back.“  
She came back with a little orange container of Ambien, handed him one and glanced at her watch. "You’ll have four hours after they wear off to get on your feet again. I’m going to get last intel and kevlar and fetch you afterward.“  
Stiles looked exhausted. He swallowed the pill and lay his head on the decidedly plucked arm of the sofa. She was worried about the amount of power he’d had set free impulsively. He hadn’t even needed to touch any of his tattoos or scars. If he could reproduce anything like that tonight, they would at least be heavily if not skillfully armed. She smiled tiredly, but it only lasted until her eyes fell on the chipped off fin of her late grandmother’s favorite figurine.   
She picked it up, turned around, and upon further investigation retrieved the two missing parts from under the table. She carefully placed them onto Stiles’ outstretched palm. He held them gingerly and looked very lost.  
"Have you heard of Kintsugi?“ she said, her voice brittle.   
"No.“ Stiles’ eyes were huge and glassy.   
"It’s the art of repairing broken ceramics with gold.“ She fixed orange slitted eyes on him: "You better start practicing, Stilinski.“  
Then she turned away from him with feeling, her black hair swishing around and behind her and stalked into her bedroom, closing the door emphatically. 

She changed into trainers and more subdued colors, braided her hair into one handy plaid and packed a few items to be mobile. If she didn’t have a chance to return to her home before, she’d at least be ready for tonight’s narc action. 

She pocketed another burner phone and checked on Stiles before she left the flat to take one of the biggest risks of her life. Her nan’s goldfish lay on the table, inexplicably in one piece, but Stiles was out cold. She shook her head in exasperation. That man might be 26 on paper, but sometimes he seemed to have the heart of a child. Deep fondness made her grab her keys and hurry the fuck up. She needed to do the right thing now. 

The precinct was all business as usual, but to her, it felt like walking to her own scaffold, and at eight in the morning no less. There were one or two glances at her feet in the absence of killer clicks and two inches of height. This time, she’d brought the manilas full of evidence and simply walked up to DA Prescott’s office, steeling herself to knock. The secretary called her in. „Is he in?“ She looked at the ajar door.   
"Hara?“ came Prescott’s dark voice from inside. He appeared in the frame and opened the door wide. He was still larger than life, intimidating in his fit and ex-field agent way, tall, dark, with shortly cropped, greying hair and beard. Lillian steeled herself, squared her shoulders and went for deadly serious. His expression turned slightly confused.   
"Sir, I need to talk to you.“  
He nodded slowly, taking notice of her unusual choice of clothes. "Come in.“ She waited until he’d walked around to the other side of his massive desk, motioned at her to sit and was entirely focused on her.   
Then she flashed her eyes at him for a good long moment. He didn’t look away.  
She waited for his reaction, suspended in time for several heartbeats. Then Prescott folded his hands loosely on the desktop. Vulnerable, open. Empty-handed. And not in the least perturbed. There was no uptick in his heart rate at all.   
She suddenly felt faint, but there was little sense in turning back. She had to trust her first instinct.  
"I see.“ he said. "I suppose there is something you would like to discuss with me that concerns weres in the force?“   
She nodded. "Especially weres and their scent.“  
He opened his arms in an inviting gesture. "I’m all ears.“  
She pulled herself closer to his desk and arranged both case files on the shiny mahogany.   
"Special Agent Stilinski and me, we are sure that these are actually connected,“ she started, her heart pounding. He grabbed both folders and turned them around to thumb through the first, the murder. Lillian breathed and waited and hoped for the best. 

Derek wasn’t surprised when they explained the lengthy process for visitation at the FBI to him and he had to sit down in a waiting area on the ground floor until he was going to be asked inside. He pulled himself an ice-cold water from the cooler in the corner when he noticed a woman he recognized as Lillian Hara pass him on her way out, a big black gym bag with her. It was well after noon by now and she seemed in a hurry. He quickly grabbed his jacket and went to shout after her just to be hit by the fact that she, also, smelled very subtly like chemicals and nothing remarkable at all.

Glass doors slithered closed behind her while he felt unable to move, watching her throw the bag into a black limousine. He wracked his brain trying to come up with a good, solid explanation that let Lillian off the hook, that made sense of what had just gone down, but there was none. 

Were-felines smelled, he knew as much. In a split second decision he was out the door, starting his own car and trying to follow her Lillian as inconspicuously as possible. 

  
  
Stiles groaned softly. Something unpleasantly hard pressed into his back when he slowly came to. He felt around and found a bit of chair that had been thrown around earlier. Eyes closed, he heaved a deep breath and tried to stretch before opening them blearily to the world. The ceiling was singed. Next to him where the couch table had been was a heap of wooden dust and sparkling glass and some holes littered the walls, pieces of ceramics and random leaves of a gumtree emerging from them. 

He’d possibly overreacted at Derek’s revelation, he thought. Ha - who was he kidding. He’d literally exploded in a six feet across bubble of light, obliterating the table and a Yucca and rehoming the gumtree all around the flat.   
He dragged his hand across his mouth and breathed for a second. This was not good. Not good at all. It reminded him of the first few times he’d noticed the change, like small crackles of ozone that had happened when he’d concentrated on his neck scar, small items randomly tittering around him, the off ritual he had wanted to do, suddenly going off the rails with that touch. He’d been intrigued, but also panicking in a very rational way. Now, there was very little rationale for his panic. 

Back then, he’d tried to get some information out of Deaton who’d been cryptic as fuck and not helpful at all, especially since he’d insisted that Stiles would have to find someone else to help him with his special brand of mojo and that no, there was no way to get rid of it without getting rid of his life. And after a short period of anxiety attacks and depression he’d seen the potential and done something about it.   
Granted, it had taken a lot of trial and error to find that every single wound he’d sustained that fateful night his powers had manifested, worked like it’s very own trigger. But since that had been established, he’d experimented and learned. His eyes were pulled towards his bare underarm that sported three shallow scars of cuts partially covered by hardly visible white tattoo lines. First he’d tried injuries, then he’d tried art. By now it was covered in white lines, each and every one of them manifesting a different brand of action for him through breath and intent. He’d even learned to transfer some of it, tattooing his finger and then touching his eye, gaining the shadow sight that had shown him Lillian’s true form. It had been glorious.   
He thought everything was going quite well, considering he’d had no Jedi Master to teach him.

And now everything had gone to shit. The lines had started moving on their own this week, branching out, rearranging themselves as they pleased, covering other parts of his body when he powered them up, just like the moment in the car when even his irises had caught fire. The finest lines on his arms sported a silvery sheen, as if the light already lay in waiting just to break through, break him. The only tattoo he’d not gotten in white sat in the middle of his sternum, closest to his heart. He hadn’t used it often, especially not recently, but he had a feeling it would need using tonight. And his only hope for an anchor that could have been here in time had evaporated in surprise and hurt. Just as he got lost in his internal debate about what to do, Lills got back. 

She breezed inside and threw her keys largely in his direction, just to hear the muffled clang where they landed in the dust. Slowly, she turned to look at the sad view, lips a very unamused line. "Well. Remember. You’ll sort this mess out, Stilinski, I tell ya. You feeling better?“ She unpacked some food from a bag and threw him a wrapped burrito that he caught by sheer luck. With his face.   
"Ta,“ he mumbled, tearing into the food.   
"You’ll have to change.“ she said conversationally, looking him up and down as she handed him a bottle of coke and a paper napkin and then huffed a laugh at his unimpressed stare.   
"First, you need to wake up. Then you need to change your clothes into something darker and kevlar. Seriously Stiles. Get a grip.“ She fished the keys from the pile and hung them next to the door, then she sat down next to him on the lumpy sofa and bit into her own burrito. It was messy.   
"I talked to Prescott,“ she said, somewhat unclearly.  
"How’d that go?“ Obviously it had gone smoothly or she wouldn’t have returned. The question remained if her idea of him being somewhat in the know about other shifters on the force had held.  
She chewed thoughtfully. "He agrees with us.“  
Stiles was awfully surprised: "Does he now?“   
She nodded earnestly and caught his eye: "Yeah, he also knows what’s made the other weres impossible to trail.“ She swallowed and paused, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.  
Hypnotized, he lowered the wrap.   
"He’s the warlock, Stiles.“

Not too far away from Lillian’s flat Derek sat inside his smelly rental with partially rolled down windows and waited. He’d even trailed Lillian around the block to her door, but it hadn’t made much of a difference as he’d only seen her enter the building until now. For a split second he thought she’d noticed him, but she’d just slowed down to finger her keys and unlock the door. 

It was getting dark and Derek, not for the first time in his life, asked himself what the heck he was doing. Stiles had clearly told him to fuck off and he probably knew everything about those scentless idiots by now and he’d probably be extremely pissed. But Derek couldn’t help the urge to see him in one piece. If only he’d not broken his fucking phone that morning, he could’ve.. no he couldn’t have called Stiles. The burners.   
He thunked his head against the cheap headrest and winced at the unwieldy plastic. Suddenly the noise of a window opening on the third floor drew his attention. 

A lean, kind of condensed female silhouette was visible against the light glow of the living room. A rumble in the distance made her look up and gesture outside, speaking into the flat. She laughed. At least Lillian was in good spirits, he thought bitterly and gnashed his teeth. The woman turned at the window, closed it again and he saw something light the inside of the flat up in a soft whitish flash. As if on cue, he lurched forward in the car, his heart galloping thunderously in his ears. He checked himself in the mirror and saw his eyes flash blue, goose flesh all over his arms and neck and his canines lengthened. Then the feeling ebbed. First, fat raindrops hit the car. Another rumble. He breathed hard, trying to tamp down the horror of violation. Purposefully loosening the death grip he had on the steering wheel, he decided to get out of the car and walk around the vicinity to get a grip and steel himself for confrontation. Another two or three deep breaths and he’d go up there and find out what was going on. 

At that moment the shutter to the building’s underground parking lot drew up and an unassuming car passed him that clearly had Lillian driving it.   
He cursed colorfully and threw his own rental in gear. He’d have to change tac. 

Stiles sat next to Lills and checked over his Sig P 228 for the third time. As long as he’d been on the job, he hadn’t needed to fire it often and even fewer times at people of a were persuasion. He gnashed his teeth in annoyance and wished for more time. Preferably to get some were-appropriate rounds to hold people back if needed.   
Lillian threw him a sideways glance: "You look better, more in control.“ He paused. He didn’t feel more in control, but the underlying silver sheen had faded significantly after he’d enforced their kevlar with a few runes. He’d been afraid that he’d lose it if he went overboard, but instead there’d been a curious shift that still went on, calming the current somewhat. If he didn’t know better he’d thought a bit of his magic had been given to someone else, easing the pressure inside. It also made him feel a bit tired and a lot uncomfortable. The thought of doing to an unsuspecting person what had been done to himself was not one he wanted to entertain. 

"So, we’re going for a nice undetected round of surveillance, put up cameras where possible and we stream everything we can and after gathering enough incriminating evidence, we quietly make our exits and bust their asses legally, right?“  
Lillian nodded. "And there’s no more backup because we can’t have other people see the shifters.“ She shrugged: "Would you want our colleagues randomly firing at me if it goes to hell? I wish there’d been more time, too, but it doesn’t work that way. We only have this shot, if we wait, they’ll change tac and it might get even harder than now to get at them. It’s just recon. We need to be quick.“  
Stiles doubted the "just recon“ bit. Their opponents were skilled, armed and trained fighters and undetectable to were’s noses as well as underhanded and sneaky. Also, they didn’t know for sure how many there’d be and if Stiles was clumsy enough, they would be found out.   
He checked the small cameras again and settled back into the seat. No use freaking out now, he reminded himself. There was always a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoohoooooo, only two more chapters and the epilogue to go. I'm so excited and thank y'all for the reads and feedback, you are the loveliest people!


	5. Dark Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intel action happens and leads to revelations.

When they reached the area, all Stiles could see at first were dark clouds and rain. It would serve them well, just to stay concealed, but it was also harder to see and put up the impromptu surveillance. Besides, several tenant’s names had come up as suspects and their units had been inconveniently scattered far around the checkerboard-like structure of almost 400 garages. The roads between each block of ten by two garages were wide enough for two SUVs to pass each other with strategically well-placed turnabouts. The whole area was surrounded on two sides by greenery and the other two were service roads. They’d driven up to a certain point and then left the car almost in the greenery. Lillian loosened her vest before she got out of the car and shone her mag lite on the area map. The units in question were marked, same as the very rudimentary surveillance that only covered the entrances and the central turnabout.   
"I’ll do it. And no groaning, no peeping either. We went over that. Let me just do my job.“  
"I wouldn’t DREAM of getting in your way.“   
She patted his cheek affectionately. "Good boy.“  
"Hey!“

She grinned widely with elongating and sharpening teeth. He pulled a face. The length of her hair first receded and then fanned out along her whole body in tight little spots while she became even more coiled strength than usual, kind of condensing all of herself into her feline form. Her features were strangely similar to those of her human form, but as she finished her transformation, she had to duck out of her clothes, getting tangled in the vest despite having it loosened before. Stiles reached out to help her and hold it while she slithered out. 

"You’ll be naked when you shift back to put these up.“ Stiles whispered, irrationally, holding up the satchel with the surveillance gear. "Why’d you even bring it?“ he added, nodding at the vest. She grumbled, grabbed the satchel in her teeth and slouched off, effortlessly jumping on the first garage like a shadow. "Damn,“ Stiles murmured to himself, watching her disappear into the night. He didn’t know what kind of feline she was, but she was beautiful, brownish-black with little black spots and bigger than he’d expected. He returned to the car to wait until she'd be back, checking his vest and his gun again and staring out at the road. Too soon he heard the sound of another, bigger car approaching the compound from the other side. He crouched low behind the wheel and held his breath. This was earlier than they’d suspected. He swiftly sheathed the Sig and checked his magic. There was a little glowing happening that might give him away if one looked out for it, but it was manageable if he pushed it inside the rune over his heart.   
He covered his face with a mask and got ready to swoop in and cover his big cat companion. Ducking low, he slithered out of the car and only closed the door very softly. If there were other weres here tonight, they’d even hear him breathe, so he didn’t have to give them an incentive. Lucky for them, the rain hadn’t loosened up yet.

He sidled along the outer lines of containers and garage doors and tried his damnedest to blend in with the dark surroundings. Cocking the Sig, just in case he strained his ears for any sign of trouble. A rolling shutter was being opened about four blocks in, close to a turnover area. He just waited and breathed, trying to make out his partner on the roof where he knew she should be. With a little more shuffeling he had a clear view of the place, a white, unassuming van and the garage that was at least half-filled with tightly taped boxes and shone a low electric light into the night.   
There was talking going on, he counted two, a tall greige guy and a smaller man, and almost immediately recognized them as Black and Cortez, Special Agents he’d actually worked with before, on narcotics cases of course. What a major fuck-up. He noticed with trepidation that they’d come out here in person instead of using someone smaller and further down the food chain to do their dirty work.   
That could only mean they'd be prepared and this was... "Ah, Special Agent Hara, so nice of you to join us! Quite literally if I smell right.“ 

Stiles groaned inwardly. And there it was, the going to hell he’d tried so hard not to conjure in the car. He saw Lillian stand up in all her unclothed glory and saw for the first time that his partner had a huge leopard tattooed down the left side of her body.   
Then she leaped down and straightened up, apparently unperturbed. "I know it’s not just you two.“ she said evenly. "I just want to know where your boss is.“  
Cortez snorted: "As if. So, you also joined the club, our steady, by-the-book Miss Infallible. What would your precious partner think about that?“ 

"He’d say nothing about that.“ Stiles instantly recognized this voice, too. He knew it, he'd heard it countless times, droning on about claws and marks and glyphs. It was Dr. Miles, sauntering out of the garage to meet her, in all his 5’7, mousy-haired unassuming glory. Except his eyes were green and slitted and he’d got jowls from somewhere and - was that the beginning of a mane? Stiles felt like kicking himself. Of course, you _never ever_ underestimated the average guy.   
Miles came to stand before his partners and directly in front of Lillian and growled, very low. "You think you’re so clever, Hara, you and your partner. But I overestimated you both. I thought you’d get the warning, you’d understand what a dead man, killed by an insider of the force, surrounded by your favorite fantastic topic meant.“  
"An invitation?“ Lillian's voice carried.  
Stiles gaped. The balls! 

Unfortunately for them, Miles didn’t rise to the occasion. "Au contraire,“ he sleazed and looked her up and down. "It pains me to say but now that Prescott undoubtedly knows about your little suspicions and he obviously tried to assist you by taking your scent as well, there is no reason to let you get back to the precinct to blab. How unfortunate for you to have come without a vest.“ Stiles had no time to think, so when the Lionman reared back his arm to slit her open, he fired right between Miles' eyes. It was a good shot, for the rain and night. Might have had to do with him glowing a bit, though.  
He saw a line of white light following his bullet for a split second before it was pitch black again, beside the garage light. Lillian hadn’t turned around, but she was crouched back from the coming blow, muscled up and sported fur again, hissing menacingly.

Of course bullets hurt anyone like crap, but they didn’t make anything like Miles die and unfortunately, there were two more weres glowing their eyes through the night now. And they came charging. One of them, Black, threw himself at Lillian, the other one just pulled a gun. Because of course, guns did work on humans. Stiles steeled himself for the impact on kevlar or where ever else on his body, but surprisingly, Lillian intercepted both of them in one brilliant, slashy, clawy turn. An angry roar broke the night.

Decision time, he thought, unhooked the kevlar at top speed, pulling it over his head with his shirt. He heard a growly groan from the mane-y mess at Lillian’s feet, felt the cold, cold rain on his skin and all he could think was: "Please dear god, let it work.“   
Widening his stance, he focused on Lillian and himself, pulling on all the good feelings of pack and friendship, the ozone he could smell on the rain now, the current in the clouds and saw himself light up full force. Every line, every scar and most importantly the triskelion on his heart glowed up in the unearthly silvery light he’d reserved for this occasion. 

And as soon as he touched his heart, the glow expanded, closing around him in a sheen not unlike moonlight. With an extended gesture he tried to close it around Lillian, too, but it was a bit less forceful than his own.  
"Bring it on, motherfuckers,“ he whispered, more sure of this than he probably should’ve been, considering he’d not tried this one for quite a long time. Lillian threw herself at Black with vengeance and managed to claw him back while Stiles advanced slowly, mentally cataloging his options. He’d have to touch unfortunately, to really do something to help them win. "Come on, Cortez, why are you doing this?“ he tried to engange his former colleague with little hope for success. Cortez dragged blood from Lillian's cut on his temple out of his eyes with the back of his hand, holding the gun and leveled it at Lillian, instantly pulling the trigger at her torso.

It was close range and Stiles could feel the bullet going through the shield, slowing. A punched-out breath and a curse was Lillian's only reaction when it had hit her and dropped to the floor. Cortez fired again. Lillian ducked out of point-blank range and jumped behind the crates which resulted in several decorative flare-ups of white powder and tablets raining onto the wet asphalt. She’d been hit, but as far as Stiles could tell, she’d not been hurt. Black gave chase, turning over some more crates with an angry roar.  
Stiles was almost close enough to use the water as a conductor, when Cortez changed aim to him and shot again. His shield held up quite well, but his PTSD gave a groan of protest. He recognized the circumstances in a violent flashback: Rain, darkness, asphalt, the eery glow. - Stiles breathed harshly and mentally slapped himself to get out of it, but he was too late to react in time to the barrel that was now pressed against the shield, very close to his head. 

"You have no idea what you’re doing with your little light show,“ Cortez growled through his teeth. Stiles didn’t deign to answer. Instead he fixed his opponent with an angry stare and reached up to touch him in the same instance that Cortez fired. The bullet went through, as Stiles felt the hot rod of pain just like the time before, but instead of shattering his skull like he’d expected, it had just grazed his temple. It became clear why, when Stiles saw Cortez having been thrown back and blown unconscious into the van, runic lines littering the vicinity around him like UV confetti. The bubble was gone, but it had saved him at least. Stiles felt utterly drained, the lines on his arms and legs receding with every heavy breath. He felt vertigo pull at him. Cortez didn’t look dangerous for the time being, so he turned his attention towards Miles on the floor. Where there was a lot of blood - and an empty spot. 

He’d barely enough time to notice the pounding feet running up behind him, turn around to see the hulking maned silhouette with eerily glowing green eyes charge at him and notice with a burst of panic that his outstretched hand didn’t do shit anymore when a huge black shadow barreled the Lionman off his course with unbelievable force and into one of the garage doors that gave an earsplitting whinge. It let up, watching the Lionman turn onto his side with a shake of his head and Stiles heard familiar growling. Miles was back on his feet the next second, but a resounding roar made Miles move back and Stiles’ eyes widen and his voice drown in disbelief:  
"DEREK?!“

The wolf perked up and looked at him, but Stiles could only stare. Its eyes weren’t only blue anymore, but had some red creeping in. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion, Miles getting ready to kill, Stiles’ powers returning full force and Derek in the middle, but Stiles didn’t even think about it. He closed his fist, pushing all his power into it, nodded at Derek to trust him and focused on the huge were-lion now lobbing at him with a cruel, feline grace. Miles jumped. As if suspended in slow motion, Stiles dodged the first claw and punched his own, charged fist straight into Miles' lion-face. His magic pushed through the were's body and stole his transformation in mid-jump. Stiles was still pushed backward by the unassuming figure of Dr. Miles and landed painfully on the hard asphalt, hitting his head and scraping at least one layer of skin off his shoulder blades with roughly 150 pounds of dead weight on him. The man didn’t move, but upon checking his pulse, he found one, thready and fast, but still there. He let his arms drop to the floor in exhaustion, the adrenaline eking out of him steadily and leaving him raw. 

It was eerily quiet all of a sudden. The rain had stopped and the first threads of silvery moonlight broke through clouds and reflected off the wet surfaces around them. There was only soft groaning from Cortez, until Stiles heard the clang of chains and ripping tape and someone talking on the phone. Lillian’s voice carried. "Yeah. We need backup like yesterday. Three, and Larry? Make sure Prescott knows first. He’ll want to come personally.“ 

Stiles started to struggle mousy man off his chest, but it was only seconds before the guy was easily lifted off him, turned over onto the asphalt and a decidedly naked Derek Hale stepped in his line of vision. A wet, gorgeously disheveled, wide-eyed and lifesaving Derek Hale. Stiles heart leaped and he felt as if he hadn’t been breathing right for a long time - until now. 

"Fancy seeing you here,“ he deadpanned.

"I live to serve,“ Derek groused before sweeping his eyes down Stiles’ form and freezing. His red-ringed eyes were glued to the softly glowing triskelion on Stiles’ chest that seemed to shift with the moonlight. Stiles held out his hand, waggling it impatiently: "Help a guy up, would you?“  
Derek gripped his hand, pulled and almost lifted him off his feet. Stiles leant back and bent over to put his hands on his knees and wheeze away the vertigo: "So.“  
Derek pushed a hand to his shoulder to stabilize him, but as Stiles looked at it in surprise and into Dereks’s eyes, he could only register the warmth and the crackle of energy between them and the steadily growing red ring around Derek’s irises.

"Dude, your eyes,“ he said, fascinated, straightening up. Derek didn't acknowledge the comment. Instead, he looked between the tattoo and Stiles' face until he finally announced: "You’ve got my family crest.“   
Stiles looked down at his own chest, suddenly realizing the situation with embarrassing clarity: "Huh...Yeah.“ Well, shit, his brain supplied helpfully.  
Derek still stared at him, incredulous: "Over your heart, Stiles.“ His voice sounded rough.  
Stiles cleared his throat, one hand rubbing at his neck. "Yeah..about that…“ he trailed off, suddenly utterly shy: "How’d you find me anyway?“  
Derek didn't appreciate the change of topic: "Got eyes. Trailed Lills," he grunted, dismissively, and then, without further preamble, he pressed his warm, naked palm on Stiles’ equally naked triskelion tattoo - and the world lit up.

Stiles absently registered a feminine squeak and some discombobulated groaning, but most of his mental capacities were used up by the feeling of clarity and limitless power that rushed through him through the point of connection. Before his eyes, everything had turned into the shadow, but with an overlay, as if he could see both layers of reality at once. Suddenly, he felt an extended connection to everything around him, every tree, the bits of greenery around the area, the forest in the distance, the soft light of the moon, but especially to the glowing figure sharing his space. It was beautiful. Dark velvety reds intermingled with glossy electric blues and golds while white flecks danced across it, almost like a galaxy. He stretched out his own hand and saw a similarly colored shape extending where it was, immediately merging with the other shape by several threads. He looked up and saw Derek's astounded expression overlaying the colorful forms, the 'wolve's eyes following the motion.

Hypnotized, he carefully laid his own hand on top of Derek’s onto his heart and the glow slowly, softly died down, the shadows and colors and even lines on his skin fading somehow joyfully until only reality remained in a suspended moment of magnitude.  
Hyperaware, Stiles noticed moonlight gathering in the rainwater that hung in Derek’s hair, beard and eyelashes. Finally, Derek looked up and met his gaze. His eyes had lost their intense glow and returned to customary aqua, but still spoke volumes about the - even for their standards - unusual situation, wide, open and vulnerable. Stiles was overwhelmed by the feeling of balance he experienced, how much more in control he felt, now that Derek was close. Utter relief flooded his heart. He couldn’t keep it in: "You brought it onto yourself, man.“  
The corners of Derek’s mouth ticked up in a long-suffering smile: "Yeah.“ He stepped even closer, his body radiating a wonderful heat that Stiles hadn’t consciously been aware of before. They stared at each other, humbled by the monumental business that had just gone down, even if none of them knew exactly what it was.

A throat clearing next to them made both of them start and turn. Lillian, still naked and hands on her hips, looked at Derek, sizing him up, somewhat unimpressed.  
"So, you’re Derek, eh? You owe me a living room, mister.“

They’d barely succeeded in the makeshift-dress-challenge when several vehicles could be heard crunching gravel on the service road towards them. Stiles was still only half-dressed because Lillian wore his shirt - which fit almost like a dress - but at least Derek had managed to retrieve his abandoned, wet clothes and get into them. Miles still lay on the floor, his accountant's attire frayed and torn in places where his bicep had bulged and claws had torn it. Now, however, he just looked like a pathetic, bound and gagged loser. Stiles shuddered. 

The cars and medical stopped, lined up like the cavalry and to Stiles’ surprise, DA Prescott stepped out first. Stiles recognized his massive frame immediately and turned around, his back to the man. His hands immediately started sweating with adrenaline. To his knowledge, he'd not told his DA, who'd been a warlock all the time, that he himself used magic to do his job. It should have comforted him, assured him, but it did not.  
"What happened to Miles anyway?“ Lillian asked offhandedly, probably to break the tension, while checking on the other two suspects, who’d been bound at the hands and knees and tied together as well.   
Stiles swallowed and murmured: "I meant to separate the lion from the human, so he can’t shift. I used the protective shield, but I don’t think it will hold up indefinitely.“ Derek shifted closer in the face of the approaching warlock, sensing his panic and subtly touching their shoulders together for comfort. Stiles felt very comforted at once.

"Well, let’s hope it holds up through the trial then,“ commented the DA drily, in his deep and boomy voice stepping up to them to look at the mess. He was accompanied by several Field Agents with handguns, vests and very sturdy looking handcuffs that greeted them perfunctorily before hurrying past to deal with the felons. They just watched for a moment until: "Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful,“ Lillian started, but Prescott interrupted her: "They’re specialized cuffs.“ Lillian’s mouth snapped shut. The half-aware weres were ushered towards the van and even Miles was hauled up into medical, securely cuffed. 

Prescott scanned the vicinity one last time with a watchful eye and gave directions to clean-up before calling more backup for forensics and walking to his car, only to return with two blankets that he threw at Stiles and Lillian: "You’ll have to give reports, all of you. Tomorrow at the latest,“ he said gravely with an eye on Derek, who nodded, scowling.   
"Get checked out, dry, clean and warm before. Stilinski, I need to see you again on Monday at nine o’clock sharp. We need to have a long-overdue conversation about,“ he waved his hand in the general direction of Stiles’ head, body and triskelion, "this.“  
"Yes, sir.“  
"Your first trip is the hospital.“ he gestured towards the still oozing graze wound on his head with finality. Stiles couldn't suppress a grimace, but it was hard to stay upright and he silently agreed. 

Prescott nodded at Lillian once and then smiled uncharacteristically wide: "Good job, Hara. On everything.“ She smirked back. "I’m glad my instinct was right, Sir.“  
He nodded.   
With an offhanded motion, he swiped across her shoulder and a rune of light flared up underneath the wet shirt, before it disintegrated and fizzed out. Derek inhaled. There was a scent again, warm and spicy. She sighed with relief: "I felt like only half a feline.“  
"Indeed.“ Prescott smirked before he turned around and waved dismissively at them over his head: "I’ll go with those who need a bit of extra vigilance to behave.“

They stood silently for another moment until Stiles swore: "That big bag of dicks!“   
Derek snorted, Lillian laughed: "Stilinski, I didn’t know you had it in you!“ 

  
Lillian and Derek decided that Stiles was to go with Derek in the smelly rental, his injuries too minor to warrant an ambulance. When he was settled comfortably in the car, Derek turned up the heat and checked him over cursorily. "You’re still bleeding.“ he murmured sorrowfully and wiped at the graze the bullet had opened on Stiles’ head, checking his head for bumps and unfortunately finding a significantly painful one on the back.   
Stiles winced and waved him off irritably: "Get off! They’ll deal with that later. It’s hardly a scratch.“ 

But as soon as he’d fought the wolf off, Derek looked lost and so pathetic, that Stiles relented. "Alright, come on, come on.“ he groused, unclipped his seatbelt, unwrapped himself a bit from the blanket, grabbed Derek's arm and pulled him, as hard as he could, into a hug. Derek seemed stunned for the briefest moment before he dove into Stiles like a man starving. He face-planted into his neck, curled both arms protectively under Stiles’s and onto his back and pressed as close as possible in a car. Stiles’ hiss of pain made him relocate his hands carefully to lower, less scraped areas of his back. The gear shift dug into Stiles’ thigh, but Derek tenderly rubbing his stubbly cheek on Stiles’s made up for it.   
"I missed you, too, big guy.“ Stiles whispered softly, his voice just on this side of wet, his chest expanding and feeling much too full to function. Derek seemed to barely suppress a whimper, but they managed to draw back after a moment and regain their composure with an iron resolve. Stiles laboriously resettled into the seat and his blanket. "Let’s get going. I’m freezing.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I did it.. I'm so hyper.


	6. Little Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath with Answers and Appreciation.

The hospital was moderately busy when they arrived, but Stiles was immediately led into an examination room, curtesy of his graze that still bled steadily onto his blanket and made him look like an undead murder victim that swooned a little too zombielike. While having the wound cleaned, clamped and dressed, an ice-pack for his bump pressed into his hand and his back cared for, Stiles had to recount some elements of the fight to the older doctor, who reminded him of Professor McGonnagall in the strict set of her mouth and the stern look she gave him over her reading glasses. She decided that he had "to stay for supervision for 48 hours, courtesy of the possible concussion, even if it killed his Saturday Night plans with his boyfriend.“   
"Uh, he’s..“ Stiles started but shut himself up immediately as he realized how cliché that had sounded. The sadistic knowing little smirk she gave him as he blushed like a teen made him like her even more.   
"Yes doctor.“ he sighed and looked at the door to where he suspected Derek in the waiting area on an ugly plastic chair, likely horrified by hospital smells and slightly drowsy.

She released him from the room with a chit to be taken up to get him into a proper bed. Derek sat outside the room, promptly getting up when he saw Stiles and moving to steady him again. Stiles had to smile so wide, it hurt his clamps.  
Derek huffed and stepped closer, dragging both of his hands down Stiles’s shoulders to his elbows, just holding him. Then he leaned in even further and pressed a soft, slightly scratchy kiss to Stiles’ forehead. "Let’s get you settled,“ he murmured against his skin before he drew back. Stiles stared at him, wordlessly and a bit misty-eyed and nodded.

  
It took the hospital only about a quarter of an hour to have him in bed and all set, with Derek in a chair beside him and some hot tea, which Stiles thought, was remarkable. He slurped the tea until Derek gave him some unimpressed stink-eye and he stifled a chuckle behind the cup.  
The nurse, a guy in his 30s with a very reassuring attitude smiled at them when closing the curtains around the bed and, with a sideways glance at Derek said: "You’ll have to leave eventually, but visiting hours are from eight to six tomorrow, so you’ll be back in no time.“   
They made eye-contact after the door had closed and Stiles carefully put the cup on his bedside table, suddenly aware of the other patients in the room.   
"Where are you staying?“ he whispered at Derek, who shuffled closer to the bed, even though he probably didn’t need to due to werewolf hearing. „Don’t know yet.“  
"You could sleep at my place, like the last time. No need to find anything in the middle of the night.“  
Derek nodded and Stiles handed him the keys to the flat. They’d done this before, even though it did feel different tonight.  
Derek carefully slithered them into the pocket of his leather jacket, taking care not to clang them too much and whispered: "We’ll talk tomorrow.“   
Stiles’ eyes grew heavy as if on cue and he yawned expressively. "Sorry,“ he mumbled, burrowing deeper into the cushion and wincing. Derek stood with the softest smile and carefully pressed another kiss to Stiles uninjured temple.  
"Could get used to that,“ Stiles mumbled, his staccato heart outing his excitement to the 'wolf. Derek felt slightly cold fingers reach for his and held Stiles’ hand until he’d drifted off to sleep, only another half-minute.

He caressed the bruised knuckles once, watching Stiles drift off and his peaceful face, introspective, before carefully disentangling himself and almost soundlessly stealing out of the room. Another ten minutes of creeping in the hallway later he was satisfied that nothing was going to come in and kill anyone - talk about rightful paranoia - and left for Stiles’s flat.

  
It was almost three when he unlocked the door to the apartment. It hadn’t changed much since he’d seen it last, but there were subtle reminders of his long absence. The exotic indoor palm-tree had grown a good two feet. Suddenly he stilled. Granted, it was the full moon, but he knew that what he most wanted wasn’t just the wolf talking. It was his mile-wide possessive streak coupled with a bone-deep certainty they were headed in a certain direction that made him seek out Stiles’ bedroom and open that door first. A deep breath in made him almost face-plant in pleasure. It was condensed Stiles with the bit of fresh citrusy addition of his magic he’d noticed that last time. He suppressed the urge to dive headfirst into Stiles’ bed and shut the door with a willful finality he didn't really feel. 

Ambling through the apartment, he touched some surfaces as if in reassurance. Tonight had been a close call, but they’d had close calls all their lives. He’d been there today, when Stiles had needed him most and as a result, there’d been that utterly strange moment of shared breath and shared minds. For a short while, he himself had been able to see a different version of reality, possibly the version that Stiles could see at will by now. Stiles, who’d become a strange kind of mage, or magical being? He didn’t know what he was, but he knew that Stiles was still utterly himself, reflected by the dried-up coffee cup on the couch table, the well-cared-for house plants, the messy kitchen and his warm, familiar scent. Just with a bit of extra - whatever. He’d call Deaton in the morning, just to know what to expect from Prescott who, obviously, was a warlock. Fuck his life, he thought absentmindedly before he finally noticed the uncomfortably snug fit of his damp clothes and set out to get settled in for the night. He treated himself to a hot shower with Stiles’ body wash, buried his nose quite pathetically in a freshly-washed but still a bit Stiles-scented towel and finally made himself at home on the couch. He tamped down heroically on his impulse to sleep in Stiles’ bed. If everything went well, he’d be allowed to soon enough. After all, Stiles had him tattooed over his heart.

The next morning dawned bright and bushy-tailed and Derek had managed to rummage through a few of Stiles’s clothes drawers perfunctorily without snooping and thinking about it too much, because he was sure, Stiles wanted some real clothes. Not finding a landline in the flat, he postponed the call to Deaton and went on to pack an overnight bag and get himself to the hospital right in time for visitation hours. Stiles was sitting up in his bed when he entered, looking reasonably annoyed while trying to spoon a grapefruit into submission.  
"Hey,“ Derek said softly and was treated to Stiles spontaneously losing control over the fruit which slipped and skated off the plate, the tray and landed face-down on the floor with a wet squelch. They both looked at it in silent mourning.  
Stiles frowned at him: "Figures, you show up and instantly make me look like an idiot.“   
"You do that best without my help,“ he grinned.  
He heard Stiles’ heart jumping and saw the smile mirrored. Stiles sighed, and Derek swiftly fished the grapefruit off the floor to put it back on his tray. Stiles made grabby hands at the bag Derek had brought with his clothes. Derek handed it over and draped his leather jacket over the plastic chair, dressed only in jeans and his soft green henley.  
"You brought me presents?“ Stiles joked. "Maybe I should have bought you some new clothes,“ he teased.  
"Naw, I’m FBI, remember. I can’t look too sexy on the job. Besides, Batman is timeless.“ There was a chuckle from another bed.   
Derek sat down on the visitor’s chair and watched him pick a shirt and underwear. "Are you good to dress on your own?“ he asked. Stiles nodded and pulled the curtain closed with a flirtatious wink that made him blush. He tried to talk himself out of doing anything drastic, like ravaging Stiles or declaring his undying devotion, but it didn’t work as well as he’d intended. Must be the full moon, he mused.  
"Hey Der,“ he heard Stiles voice, slightly breathless with movement and a bit uncertain.  
"What?“ his own voice sounded strained. Stiles’ scent had intensified as he had gotten up from the bed and Derek found it to be increasingly hard to think clearly.  
"When are you, you know, going back to New York?“   
He smiled, that one was easy: "I meant to tell you.“ He paused for effect. Stiles pulled back the curtain and looked at him with huge amber eyes, only his lower half dressed, his broad shoulders, filled out chest and appealing ink on display.   
"I’m on holiday for the next two weeks.“   
The smile was blinding, even if Stiles groaned theatrically: "Oh shit, how am I going to get rid of you now?“   
He reached for his shirt, but Derek was so done. The triskelion shone out at him like a beacon, again shifting with silver moonlight and he felt his own eyes subtly shift color to red-ringed blue. Stiles noticed him getting up and froze, the shirt still in his hand and his heady scent thickening into something enticingly irresistible. Derek rounded the bed and stepped close, slowly, to give Stiles a chance to move away. But he just regarded Derek expectantly.  
"Dude, I know I repeat myself, but your eyes..“ he murmured.  
Derek nodded softly and touched the triskelion with two fingers. "Tell me what this means,“ he growled, very low.  
"Maybe later?“ Stiles sounded breathy, a bit anxious but his pupils were blown wide.   
"No, I need to know, now. Why. Why’d you do it?“ Derek pushed at it.   
Stiles swallowed reflexively and laid his hand on Derek's wrist, somewhat mirroring their position of the night before: "Because it’s yours.“   
Derek fit his whole palm between Stiles’ pecs, covering the design almost completely and crowded even closer, sharing body heat now, feeling Stiles’ heartbeat speed up beneath his palm.  
"What, exactly, is mine?“ he growled, low, leaning down.  
They were breathing each other’s air. Stiles’ eyes flitted between his eyes and his lips. Then, to Derek’s surprise, he leaned forward, touching his mouth briefly and very softly to Derek’s and whispered: "You’re a fucking menace. My heart, of course. All of me, everything of me has always ever been yours.“  
With a sigh Derek pulled him in by the neck and kissed him back, softly, experimentally learning the feel of his lips and the taste of them and Stiles melted into his body. Derek kissed him like this once, twice, three times, pouring all the love, longing and respect into it he desperately wanted Stiles to feel. Stiles, who nudged the other hand out of the way, wound his arms around his back and pulled him very much closer, simultaneously deepening the kiss, slanting his slightly opened mouth over Derek’s, dragging it across his lips, catching them separately, first the upper, then the lower lip, sneaking in a bit of tongue and Derek’s brain went offline, his whole body lighting up with unparalleled heat.   
His world narrowed down to this moment and he wanted to get lost in it. He trailed one hand over Stiles’ skin where he could comfortably touch it without causing pain and he committed the softness and slightly raised bits where the white lines had made a mark over time to memory. Stiles shivered against him, his whole body a long, hard, warm line against his front, utterly perfect and arousing. He pulled back a notch to lean his forehead against Derek’s and breathe. "We’re in a hospital,“ he murmured breathily.  
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out,“ Derek grumbled good-naturedly and tried to concentrate on the medical scents to flag down his body’s reaction.  
Then he tipped Stiles chin up until the other man looked into his eyes again. "You know I’m yours, too.“ It didn’t feel like a confession, more like stating a known fact.  
Stiles smirked smugly, but with glassy eyes: "Yeah, I figured. Though I’m still trying to figure out how.“

The door to the room opened noisily to let several people in and they reluctantly pulled back and let go, for now, the promise of an encore very visible in Stiles’ eyes and in the way he quickly slithered into bed to hide the evidence.   
"Ugh, you smell!“ Lillian complained. "Are you decent?“  
"You mean am I wearing clothes?“ Stiles asked, bratty.  
The curtain was pulled back emphatically by a fake-scowling Lills. "No, I meant am I going to be mentally scarred forever. But I see you two got your shit together. As luck has it,“ she said, handing him a small bag of more grapefruit and his phone, "you left your phone at my place, before we switched to burners. Which is great, because I answered it when Prescott tried to call and he’s dead set on meeting you first thing Monday. He also told me that you,“ she motioned at Derek, "are supposed to come and hold his hand. Also,“ she added, pulling a chair towards the other side of the bed, addressing Derek "I wanted to extend the hospitality of the Jordan-Hara household towards you, Derek, but I need to know your last name before we can do that. And I wondered if it might be Hale.“   
Derek heaved a long-suffering sigh: "I knew you would find out.“   
She grinned. "Your "dog“ gave it away. Very impressive I must say.“  
"You’ve got room to talk, Hara! You’re am-.“ Stiles got cut off by a ferocious pinch to the soft skin of his underarm and squeaked with little dignity.   
"No pet-talk with witnesses, Stiles! But he’s right. I can have it, too.“  
Derek raised an eyebrow. "That’s impressive.“   
"It’s a bit more common in felines though,“ she said modestly. "So, are you going to visit tonight and see what you did, when Stiles needs to snooze here all alone?“   
"Hey, it’s a cruel fate,“ Stiles lamented before he remembered the trashed living-room. "Really, Lills? Are you backstabbing me right now?“  
She shrugged: "I’ve still got to give him the talk, don’t I?“  
Derek sat back, amusedly listening to the banter. It felt familiar, but he didn’t feel threatened.

After a few hours, Stiles was tired again and took a nap while Derek and Lillian went off to have some much-needed lunch. Derek felt marginally guilty upon entering the building he’d spied out the day before. Lillian turned towards him on the stairs and remarked drily: "By the way, now that I know that it’s you, I realize you were following me.“  
Derek looked at his feet, feeling very out of balance with the woman. "Don’t worry though. I know you did it because you were worried and it was a good tac.“ He grunted in affirmation smirked when she rolled his eyes at his eloquence.   
She unlocked the door and ushered him inside, throwing her keys onto a little pile of - Derek froze.  
The living room was a scene of thorough destruction. "What went off in here?!“ he asked in disbelief.  
Lillian remained silent long enough to make him look at her instead of the debris. She looked very serious, but didn’t wait for him to connect the dots: "A Stiles. Before you balanced him out.“ In a flash he remembered the strange feeling that had pulled at him outside in the car. "Yesterday?“  
She shook her head. "No, that was controlled powers, some mending, some shielding.. but I feel like I need you to understand what is happening. Sit.“ She nodded towards the lumpy couch and he dropped onto it, unsettled.   
He heard her clatter with dishes and the sound of a teakettle being filled and switched on. Lillian returned with two cups of green tea. "Stiles hates it, but everybody has to try it once.“ she declared.   
He set it down onto the floor and picked up the broken bits of glass table, testing it between his fingertips. "It’s pulverized. He pulverized your living room furniture.“ he said flatly. His chest constricted painfully in realization.  
Lillian nodded: "Yes. That’s why I needed you to see it. What else do you see?“ She nodded at the floor again. Derek struggled to breathe evenly. His eyes scanned the floor helplessly, unable to fathom what she meant. Suddenly he realized that there was a clean circle of carpet right next to the epicenter of the explosion. He looked at her questioningly.   
She smiled. "That was where I stood.“  
Shock traveled through him and he almost lost control of his features, but checking her up and down and remembering her look the day before, she seemed completely fine. "How?“  
She nodded: "He didn’t hurt me. That’s what I meant to show you. The extent of his powers can be intimidating, even frightening at times and I don’t know how much more powerful he could become, but never forget that he shielded me unconsciously while losing control. He’s still Stiles.“   
She picked up his tea from the floor and held it out to him. „Drink up. There’s more I want to tell you, my husband surprised me with some unforeseen insight. And you need a bit of sustenance to get through it.“  
He let the hot tea calm his nerves, settled in and listened. 

  
To everybody’s surprise and relief, Stiles was discharged that afternoon to threats and reassurances of constant supervision. Derek seemed a bit preoccupied during the fact and Stiles threw him worried looks when he couldn’t bring himself to mirror his enthusiastic smile, not even when they arrived outside his flat.  
"It’s the living room, isn’t it?“ he asked, very worried.  
Derek nodded half-heartedly, but caught himself before he could drive Stiles into a nervous fit. "We just.. I think we need to talk.“ he sounded reluctant.  
Stiles huffed with little amusement: "Just our luck.“  
He noticed Derek using his keys as a matter of course and hardly waited until they were inside to wrap his arms around Derek and squeeze tight. The werewolf huffed a breath and returned the hug without hesitation. He cradled Stiles’ face in both hands and made him look up. "We just need to talk. I’m not leaving, alright?“ Stiles nodded shakily and Derek pressed a warm kiss to his lips to settle them both. It worked.   
They ordered dinner on the couch together and finally Stiles’ nervous energy made his eyes start to glow. "Here, let me..“ Derek whispered and laid his hand onto Stiles’s neck in the comforting gesture of Alphas everywhere. The glow died down immediately.   
Stiles breathed out harshly. "What did you do?“  
Derek smiled nervously: "That’s what we need to talk about.“  
Stiles eyes grew wide and utterly panicked: "Did I do something to you without your consent?“ Derek shrugged half-heartedly: "Not in the sense of the word I think.“  
Stiles shot up from the couch to start pacing: "What is it? How can I undo it? What did..how?“  
"Sit down.“ Derek's voice was firm and his eyes lit up in command. Stiles felt himself calm down again and move towards the couch, halting briefly to contemplate his compliance. Derek grabbed his hand with force and made him fall into his arms with a squeak. He laughed into Stiles’ face and Stiles went boneless. "Now please, stay here and let me finish a sentence, don’t get worked up before I’m done.“ Stiles rearranged himself more comfortably and grabbed Derek’s arms to wind around himself, reveling in the amazing feeling of warmth and protection and just having Derek so close to touch. "Alright, shoot.“  
"So, that moment we had outside,“ Stiles nodded, smiling. "Lillian is sure that that was your magic recognizing my wolf apparently and also some residue of the Alpha spark. It’s good, it’s compatible and that apparently means that it wants me as much as I want you.“   
Stiles shivered with the novel declaration. "It will also help you balance your spark better and I’d have some merits of alpha power without depending on my own pack. You’d be kind of my emissary.“  
"And you are my.. lightning rod?“ Derek scowled while Stiles couldn’t suppress a guffaw.   
However, he had to admit that it was horribly accurate.   
"So…“ Stiles started before turning in Derek's arms and focusing on his face with a horrible smirk: "Does that mean we’re like magically married now or something?“   
Derek frowned: "I don’t think so.“  
"Can it be, I don’t know..undone?“ Derek frowned even harder: "What do you want to undo?“  
"That kind of bond-thing, I mean, what exactly are we angsting about here?“ Stiles searched Derek’s eyes, but he just shook his head in exasperation: "There is no bond. We’re just amazingly compatible and should stay close to each other because it’s rare and crazy useful. It’s a gift.“   
Stiles eyes lit up in an entirely non-magical way: "I always knew we were amazing together. Did you just ask me to move in?“

Derek laughed heartily, but only until Stiles pushed himself up over him and leaned down to surprise him with a filthy kiss. Derek moaned instantly, sliding his hands down over Stiles’ sides and under his shirt to feel the soft skin again.   
Stiles pulled back minutely and breathed: "This course okay with you?“ Derek nodded wordlessly and closed the gap again, licking into his waiting mouth possessively, pushing himself up into Stiles’ body, who half sighed and half-moaned his name before sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head. Derek felt his heart expand at the visual of this incredibly fit man on his knees, on top of him, the Hale triskelion proudly etched into the skin over his heart, fire in his eyes.

He committed the image to memory and leaned in to drag his stubble over Stiles’ collarbone and leave a clear scent mark. "Yeah, that’s it,“ Stiles sighed and pulled him even closer, rocking them together. He felt hot all over, ready to burn his clothes by body heat alone. Stiles pulled at Derek’s henley and commanded: „Off, off!“ Derek chuckled, complied and instantly groaned as Stiles latched onto his shoulder and sucked a bruise into the soft flesh. Derek swore and tried to gather enough brain to get his feet under himself. "Bed, Stiles.“

  
Stiles hummed approvingly and climbed off to pull Derek up and over into his bedroom. Derek stopped for a second at the threshold in awe and just breathed in the familiar scent. Stiles, who’d been pulling him by the hand noticed the hesitancy: "No?“  
"I…Stiles.“ Derek knew he must look sappily in love with how full his heart felt, how happy he was to be there at that moment.  
Stiles broke out into the warmest, most beautiful smile and turned towards him, kissing him once chastely on the mouth and whispered: „Don’t worry, it’s okay to have performance anxiety. I love you anyway.“   
Derek's heart jumped but then he swore: "You little shit.“ He packed Stiles and manhandled him - carefully - onto his back on the queen-sized bed, just to rub his stubble all over his soft belly. Stiles alternately moaned and laughed until Derek bit into his right nipple. He first exploded in a shout of mock indignation until Derek soothed the bite with his tongue and the sounds turned into moans that were like the filthiest symphony to the wolf’s ears. 

"Come on, come on,“ Stiles whimpered and pulled at him to get closer, more, kiss him and suck on his tongue. Derek barely held himself up, mindful of scrapes and injuries, until Stiles unbuckled his belt and pulled it out with with a triumphant laugh. Then he popped the button on Derek’s jeans and slid his hand inside his shorts with a wicked glint in his eyes. Derek almost collapsed at the first touch of Stiles’ hand on him, the hot palm caressing all down to his balls, then up the whole length of his cock, the thumb smearing precum over the head and pumping him experimentally, watching his face for a reaction.

"So good,“ he pressed out between teeth clenched with arousal. Then the hand was gone and he struggled to catch his breath for a hot second before he noticed Stiles trying to undulate out from under him. He growled possessively with gleaming eyes. An answering glow lit up Stiles eyes and suddenly, even the triskelion shone again. Derek ducked his head and licked a broad stripe over the sweat gathered on it. Stiles breathing accelerated and the musky scent of arousal thickened. "Pants, off.“ Stiles whined and Derek noticed that he’d already wiggled them down to his knees, now palming his own erection for relief. He ducked, slipped down further, got rid of Stiles’ pants and hungrily pressed his nose into Stiles’s thigh, licking briefly over his balls and scenting him deeply. He felt Stiles’ fingers card through his hair: "Great view.“ Stiles commented happily and he grinned, turning his head a bit and licking a broad swipe up Stiles’ beautiful, hot, velvety-hard cock, taking the head into his mouth and sucking on it with a moan of pleasure. The salty-bitter taste exploded on his tongue and made him painfully harder.

"I amend, better view,“ Stiles sounded punched, touching his fingers to Derek’s jaw and cheek where he knew he could feel himself move inside Derek’s mouth. Derek hummed happily which made Stiles tense and moan. Stiles’ glow had not died down. Derek pulled off, thoroughly licked his way up and finally lowered himself far enough to align his cock with Stiles’, whose moan of unadulterated pleasure sounded almost like a sob. They kissed again, unable to stop deepening the connection with every second. When Stiles bucked up noisily, the wet slide of silky hot flesh made Derek almost see stars. Stiles sneaked one hand to the back of Derek’s neck, as if grounding them both with the gesture and then looked down at their joined cocks, sliding his other hand around them both after wetting it with his tongue.

Derek sunk down into the delicious slippery friction, quickly finding a rhythm that fanned the heat: "Come on, Der.“ Stiles chocked out and pulled Derek down for another deep, filthy kiss. Derek was overwhelmed by a feeling of powerless pleasure so potent, he could hardly breathe, he felt Stiles tense, his strokes losing their rhythm, and came with a muffled groan, his heat spilling between them, only a split second before Stiles’ joined him.   
He slumped onto his right side, still very close, but careful not to hurt Stiles with his weight. He’d never watched people much directly after an orgasm, but Stiles was a sight to behold, pale skin decorated by swirls and runes and lines of liquid silver, flowing in time with his staccato heartbeat, his eyes heavy-lidded, the short dark hair mussed and the first stubble a shadow on his face. Drops of sweat clung to his hairline. Stiles turned his head exhaustedly with closed eyes and murmured: "Are you watching me, creep?“  
"Yeah. You’re beautiful. I love you.“ he said truthfully.   
Stiles peered at him through slitted eyes and hummed contently. „So, you moving in then?“   
Derek breathed in and scented happiness, and very clear contentment. Pressing his lips to Stiles’ shoulder, he cuddled more into the duvet he’d so longingly stared at the night before: „You know, I might, just to spite you.“

"I love you, too."

They dozed off peacefully wrapped around each other.

  
When Monday rolled around, Stiles reeked of nerves and excitement. Derek accompanied him into the DA’s office who, upon greeting, told him to get another two weeks off. However jovial he’d seemed on the night, his body now thrummed with tension and Derek could make out the peculiar smell of ozone in the room, obviously exuding from him.   
Prescott gestured towards the chairs in front of his desk and motioned them to sit down. "I know you probably don’t want to be here.“ he said, to Derek, "but as things have it, very Special Agent Stilinski might need your help before we’re done.“ 

Their eyebrows had a silent debate, before he nodded softly and shifted his arm a tiny bit closer to Stiles’ on the armrest. The sun broke through the blinds in slivers and Prescott turned his face towards it, his eyes reflecting violet for a split second, before he heaved a deep breath.  
"Before we talk about anything else, I want you to know that I didn’t have any idea, it would grow so powerful inside you.“ He looked at his hands and as their eyes followed his gaze, they could make out some fine, white lines on the DA’s palms, almost invisible.  
Stiles looked punched in the gut, Dereks eyes were glued to Prescott’s face. He carefully reached for Stiles’ hand and felt him settle immediately.   
"It was you.“ Stiles ground out.  
Prescott nodded despondently and looked very tired.  
"You were very young, Stiles, too young to die on the job. I couldn’t let it happen. So I took a big chunk of my powers and pressed them into your wounds. It was supposed to save your life, maybe heal you a bit. It was not supposed to turn you.“  
Stiles’ face stayed carefully neutral, professional: "So what am I now, a warlock like yourself?“ Derek noticed Stiles’ distressed scent and his leg was jittering.   
Prescott flinched.   
"Not exactly.“ he looked sheepish, but he smiled, apparently nonetheless satisfied with the outcome. "It’s the same power, but as I didn’t know it was happening, I didn’t teach you. You forged your very own brand of magic, according to Special Agent Hara. More of a protective thing.“

Stiles threw Derek a glance, asking for reassurance, who only stared back and held on tighter.   
"Before you freak out though,“ Prescott said levelly, "the bit I gave you just fed an existing spark, that’s probably why you were able to make it your own. And your gift also managed to balance mine, after the death of my tether in the line of duty.“  
He paused, looking at Derek with a meaningful air, letting the information sink in. 

"Alright.“ Stiles whispered, then added in a stronger voice: "Why did you take their scents?“  
Prescott breathed in deeply before admitting: "I wanted the weres in the FBI to be less obvious on cases with weres, especially when getting intel, or in undercover operations. It's an advantage if others underestimate you. Besides, I didn’t want them to be singled out, I wanted them to be known for their skills instead of being reduced to the cat-people, the wolf-people, the fox-people.. you know what I mean.“

Surprisingly, Derek nodded in understanding. "I can see the appeal.“ he admitted, low, "although I can’t see how a were would want to lose their own scent. And it was poorly done.“   
Prescott sighed in agreement: "It backfired quite spectacularly. So I’m thinking of resigning.“ He stared at the blinds again, mulling the thought over. They didn’t alleviate his doubts that moment. 

It was several weeks later when Lillian Hara sat down at her desk to find a cat-shaped mint with a thank-you note on it. 


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue and I couldn't resist the image.

Epilogue

Scott cursed his life. There were days that just didn’t do it for him, days when there were threats in Beacon Hills scaring not only himself, but Deaton as well, friends who hadn’t managed to call back for an entire day when he’d asked them (Stiles) for help and cryptic messages from Derek who’d told him not to send anything to New York right now (if ever again). He wasn’t in the habit of grumping about unreliable friends, but he didn’t like being left out of the loop, especially when he felt that there were things going on he should know as a best friend and Alpha. 

He was sat at home, the kids safely ensconced in bed with Malia, but he was very happy Deaton had come by to ward their house earlier. He stared listlessly at the cold cup of tea in front of him, thinking about calling Stiles again. They’d spoken directly after the case with the weres and them finding out their DA was a warlock - well, had been a warlock - most of his life and Stiles had had a bit of a magical awakening in the meantime, but that had been a week and a half ago and he was worried. Damn it! The three witches recreating Shakespeare’s Richard III with the major was just a bit of trouble on the side. He took a gulp of tea, grimaced and got up to pour his cold, bitter tea down the drain. Opening the window, he took a deep breath of spring air, before absentmindedly rinsing the cup while staring out into the darkened street. He was so mentally preoccupied that it took him a second to catch up with what he was seeing: Row after row of street lamps flickered off until the street was in complete darkness. Scott started, growled, his eyes turning Alpha red and his fangs elongating. Whatever there was outside, set him on edge, readying himself to defend his house against whatever was coming. 

Suddenly there was a blinding flash, a sound like metal ripping, followed by a strange smell on the air, a bit of ozone coupled with citrus-y notes and very uniquely Stiles. It wafted in through the open window at the same time as his instincts told him about a pack member arriving on his doorstep and a shift in his own spark, then he got a hit of Derek, too. The cup clanged noisily into the sink as he whirled around and was out the door in no time. Outside, he froze in incredulity at the scene.

The street was still dark, but there were two figures standing very close in the middle of it, surrounded by a somewhat glowing bubble. One was tall and dressed in all black, his back to Scott and the soft glow of a triskelion through his clothes in a familiar place on his back winking through the night. The other was slightly shorter and wore a hooded pullover which did absolutely nothing to cover his glowing eyes and the Celtic-looking silvery and meandering markings all over his hands and face. After a very long moment of suspended stillness, with both figures just breathing and looking at each other, the Scott heard Derek observe: "I think you did it this time.“

The other grinning smugly, showing gleaming teeth, said in his best friend's voice: "Told ya I could do it. I’m the best.“  
"You’re so full of yourself.“ The darker figure leaned down to press a soft, proud kiss on Stiles' mouth, their glow fading and the lanterns flickering on again, all at once, revealing Derek still kissing Stiles, his hand possessively on Stiles’ neck, who had the bottom of Derek’s shirt twisted around his hand. Derek, who pulled back and looked at Stiles with an expression so open and loving, that Scott felt himself blush.  
Stiles said: "You’re such a sap. Oh hi, Scott! I got your call, figured we could come and help out.“

Scott started at being addressed and immediately crossed his arms over his chest: "I'm waiting for the details!" he heard himself say.  
Derek turned around too, looking at him with glowing eyes that were blue, but red-ringed and Scott had rarely felt so overwhelmed, so he just threw up his arms in surrender, fake-whispering: "What the fuck Stiles?! What-, why-, when, how?!“ He paused reproachfully. Then he added, with a deeply hurt look at both of them: "Why didn’t you call _me_ for once?! I’m your Alpha!“ 

  
Stiles grinned sheepishly, opening his arms wide and Scott sighed. Ah well, they would apparently have to hug it out again, before they could go and snitch some witches. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, whaddaya think?  
> Obviously I live and breathe feedback.
> 
> Stay healthy everybody!


End file.
